Eternal Damnation
by JaymeDray
Summary: Formerly "Equal Grounds". "I thought I controlled the divine destiny when I volunteered because doing so gave me him, opened a door I was too scared to take. I knew destiny fought back though because by volunteering, rising above the odds, I also lost the chance to ever have him. Without me, everyone knew, he would have won." A Cato x Marvel slash based on the first book storyline.
1. Leviathan's Invidia

**A/N: **

**If you are reading this piece for the first time after August 14, know that you are reading a refurbished version that has recently been reworked. I am happy to welcome all new readers with open arms and I hope you enjoy.**

**If you are re-reading this piece after said date, know that I decided to revive my first-born child, seeking to perfect it, edit it and fill in the plot holes. Among the changes are the fic title, the chapter titles and the chapter lengths. The cover and summary have transformed appropriately as well. I have added completely new words but have not changed the flow of events drastically. It is up to you to judge my alterations.**

**Let's play...find the ten differences? :)**

**Much Love,**

**Y.A.77**

* * *

**~Eternal Damnation~**

"At the end of the day we can endure a lot more than we think we  
can. " - Frida Kahlo

**Chapter 1 – Leviathan's Invidia**

**Part I/I**

Cato's POV

Sitting on the train and having Brutus lecture me, I admit, was not my favorite past time. He tended to be a little long-winded and I had some other activities in mind that would ease the anticipation of arriving at the Capitol much better. Nevertheless, he was my mentor and my number one ally. He wanted me to win and he knew how to win so I would value every word he said to me. He had not started this conversation the way I predicted and unlike the other nights, he was concentrated on a completely different topic. I was interested.

"Look Cato, this has been going around for a while but it's important to know truth from gossip," he started and I leaned in, placing my elbows on my knees and listening in fascination. If this gossip was juicy enough to get Brutus' attention, it must have been gold.

"There is a boy, a tribute now, who has been trained extensively by the Capitol many years prior to his actual reaping. In fact, he was taken well before he was even of age to be chosen," He revealed to me, sounding displeased with the news himself.

I nodded in understanding, frowning at the update, knowing that the conversation must have been one of warning: Brutus trying to tell me that I had competition. I disliked this boy's existence already—let alone his unfair privileges. Why did he have to come in when it was my time to shine?

I had volunteered to win and I wouldn't let this Capitol pup ruin my chances. This was my last year of reaping. I was eighteen and if I had not volunteered, I wouldn't have had to ever see the arena, a feat which most people considered a miracle. Those people didn't realize that my entire life had been dedicated to preparing for this moment. Those ignorants didn't understand that if this moment never came I would be just an empty shell without a purpose, ambling along the streets of District 2. I had thrown my hand in the air, screaming my decision in a bold tone, way before a name was called and a part of me wondered if luck would have picked me anyway if I hadn't taken the choice into my own hands. If I won I came home accomplished and lived the life of the victor I was born to be since the day my blue eyes opened to my tough dad and my fragile mom. If I lost, then I didn't deserve to live anyway—had nothing to live for.

"Did he volunteer?" I asked immediately, interrupting his speech on the child's ties, already knowing the answer. Someone like that had to be a volunteer. He was worse than I, his childhood having been torn away from him by the cruel Capitol. He was probably the ultimate child weapon to be created.

"No, he didn't speak up. He was picked," Brutus muttered and, from the perturbed look in his steely eyes, I could tell he was as suspicious about this claim as I was, "He is eighteen now, probably trained since he was eight if not younger. The phenomenon has been on the down low for obvious reasons. The sponsors refuse to shut up about him."

"How _lucky_ of him to get picked at just the appropriate time," I snapped bitterly, trying to control my sarcasm, as Brutus gave me a stern glare, motioning for me to stop acting up in a Capitol-owned train. He was right and I bit my anger, clutching my pants as badly as I wanted to crush his spirit.

"Yes. Very lucky _indeed_, Cato," he stated flatly, glaring, and I shrugged, shutting my mouth before I got on someone's bad side. If this boy had sponsors it was in my favor to befriend him, not put him down. It was impossible to want to join his fanclub though because I had one of those myself and, call me vain, I didn't think anybody could compete with me on that front.

"He is well-affiliated and_ very _well-liked. He might not look as physically capable as you but he will inevitably be propelled into a favorable position. He's good-looking too," Brutus continued absent-mindedly, rambling before leaving the sentence unfinished. I was not in the mood to hear him spurting his big words on how _unfortunate_ this fucker's presence was for me. He wasn't making me feel any better and I thought his main job was to comfort me, make me feel like I had a chance, which I did!

"I'm sorry. What exactly is your point?" I retorted, a little testy from the information I had just received. My mood had definitely soured in a matter of seconds and I looked around in wonder at why he decided to only tell me and not Clove, the little Chihuahua I was supposed to work with. Brutus looked at me in all seriousness, taking a moment to look outside at the closing-in silhouette of the Capitol, magnificent in its architecture. We would be there very shortly and I would get to see the brilliant city for the first time in my life. I had dreamt of this occasion. I hated Brutus for spoiling it without reason.

"He is from District 1 and he might just be _your greatest weapon_."

* * *

I thought there were too many colors and way too many patterns. Some of the costumes were so horribly bad that I wondered about the dynamic of relationship between the stylist and the tribute. It must have be one of hate otherwise I wouldn't understand why the stylist would want to humiliate them so much in the public eye. I mean pink and fluffy? Really now? How manly and intimidating the District 1 boy felt wearing that cheesy-looking, feather jacket?

I could tell he was not particularly excited because he was frowning and speaking rapidly, motioning stubbornly at the extravagant feathers, blowing with the air conditioner. His shy stylist, a petite young girl with bright pink hair that would explain her love for the despicable color and the body of a fourteen year old boy, was attempting to soothe him, compromising on a few items being removed like the ridiculous, gigantic headpiece that his female counterpart was wearing. It was so big and attention grabbing that I feared being outshined by the offending object when it passed in front of me.

I smirked sadistically, continuing to eye the progress of the other Districts as they busied with their costumes, making last minute adjustments. The parade was important in gaining sponsors for the Districts that were not likely to receive any outside help. Everybody knew I did not have to worry about that, seeing as I was hot and strong, with striking blue eyes and a sexy smile. I was pretty _modest_ too apparently.

Needless to say, I wasn't anxious about my display. Placing the narcissism aside and being realistic, our costumes were still by far superior to all the other ones. They were daring, appropriate and form fitting, accentuating my physique for the lustful eyes of the colorful-haired girls. Staring at some of the tributes, covered up to the neck, I thought: 'who are these people kidding if they want to win without showing a little skin?' They had to remember who their audience was and how effortlessly they melted if you gave them some soft-core porn.

Speaking of which, I would have to start looking for a target if I were to cover that aspect fairly well. Though one look around the ugly faces of the other tribute's told me common sense had already made the decision for me. The girl from District 1 was hot, in fact quite gorgeous if her beauty still managed to escape that disastrous costume. We were going to most likely work together with the District 1 tributes, seeing as it happened every year without anybody's scheming so it would be a piece of cake to seduce her into showing some cleavage for the cameras. Who wouldn't for the win?

As for her short partner with the stupid smile, splitting his face, he would have to work extra hard to convince me to let him stay. I was not willing to offer my alliance to just anyone and, for his own benefit, I hoped he could hold his own because I wasn't going to save his tight little behind.

I couldn't believe my eyes when I first saw him. I thought that the rumors must have been false, a sick parody; Brutus must have been mistaken. Nothing about the blond kid with the bouncy ringlets screamed skilled or dangerous in any shape or form.

Analyzing him again with my distant eyes must have somehow attracted his attention because I could see him making his way towards me in his idiotic costume, the feathers bouncing as he approached the circle of distance I scared the others in. He looked like a flamingo, hot pink and fluffy, just a little shorter and maybe a little huskier.

I sighed to myself and blinked my eyes slowly, dramatically, in the way that explicitly screamed: 'I am judging you'. I wondered what he wanted and I wasn't in the mood to face his blissful attitude. Being around fools who so easily displayed their emotions sickened me to my stomach. I stayed put though because what was there to do in a trapped area? I rationalized that I couldn't keep the fans away from me. Everyone just wanted to be my friend.

When he stopped right in front of me, I pursued my lips, thinking of how to shoo him away without getting involved. I soon realized that the answer was to not getting involved. I stayed silent and unwavering even when his big, curious eyes rolled down my exposed torso once, making me instinctively puff up in intimidation.

He noticed that I wasn't going to make any move to acknowledge him and took the initiative, offering me a grin and looking up at me with a pair of turquoise-green eyes, further accentuated by a tiny bit of eyeliner, contouring the bottom. At least the stylist had not vandalized his face was my first fleeting thought when our clear, colored eyes clashed. He had such a baby face with a perky nose and rosy cheeks and that explained why people kept referring to him as the 'baby boy' of the Capitol. I couldn't understand why Brutus had made such a big deal out of this one. He wasn't anything exceptional. He did not seem like the specially-trained, Capitol-fed tribute everyone advertised him to be. He seemed like he would die…by my hand.

"Hey, I'm Marvel, District 1," The boy with the stupid smile mentioned as he extended his hand and I sneered without offering mine. If this kid wanted to play with the big boys then I would show him how it was done. Fuck what Brutus said about playing nice. He did not seem to be of any use to Clove or me. I had to admit I was upset when I saw what the Capitol had reaped from District 1. Usually they were more impressive. It must have been because they were not volunteers. They didn't deserve to win; they didn't want it badly enough.

His smile quivered as his lip curled in anger for a second before he forced himself to provide a fake smile to replace the genuine one. I could see he was offended by how he instinctively rolled his shoulders back in a more defensive pose. I wondered how he looked when he wasn't so happy. I wondered what he would go for first: my jugular or my spleen. I guess I would find out soon. He was still standing there, looking at me in silent fury, and I assumed that the only way to make him stop following me around like a lost puppy was to actually introduce myself.

"Cato," I muttered apathetically, brushing past him and in the process knocking his shoulder back roughly as he growled low in his throat. I could feel him glaring at my back but I didn't deign him with a response. He did not deserve one. I had to move on to more important issues, like making sure I met his partner before we entered the arena.

As I strolled over to where the blonde was fidgeting with her hair, curling it around her fingers, I could sense his penetrating gaze on my back. I let him take it in because I wanted him to know I wasn't about to worship his highness.

When I stopped in front of the oblivious girl, she turned around and jumped at my sudden presence. It was time for me to charm her, I thought to myself so I offered my best smile, as fake as her tits, extending my hand in her direction. She seemed stunned for a second before she gave me her small, manicured hand and smiled, a bit timidly.

"I'm Cato, District 2, and you, my sweet, are gorgeous," I murmured, cringing against my words, my voice silky smooth, as I winked at her flirtatiously.

She blushed in surprise but recovered quickly, offering me a coquettish look, flapping her long, fake eyelashes and pouting her thick lips. It seemed as if she had been taught a few tricks about how these Games worked. She was a Career after all so I wouldn't have been surprised if she was as much of a killer as little pixie Clove. Her dumb-blonde look could have been just a decoy though I highly doubted that.

"Glimmer, " she uttered back, smiling coyly. She didn't speak again and I was annoyed that the conversation wasn't speeding forward. I got restless which explained why I never had the patience for a girlfriend back home. District 2 women were a hassle, hard to compromise with and loudly obnoxious. I heard the ones from District 1 were easy. I couldn't help but think that the name was so stupid. What was the other one's name? Something equally idiotic, I was certain.

"It is a pleasure," I had to keep up my façade because even though she did not seem like the most fascinating person in the world, I could definitely use her to relieve some tension in case I got restless. As for the sponsors, I bet they would have loved the best-looking candidates together, panting and writhing. I shook my head clear of the thoughts while she continued to pout seductively, shoving her enormous breasts in my general direction. She was not making it too difficult for me to act and I couldn't tell if it was because she was really that superficial or because she had the same plan as I. I doubted we were in the same intellectual level and I was not about to give her too much credit.

Being the cock-block that he was, the boy returned to her side, not as joyous as before, seeing as he was looking around the room apathetically. It took him a while to return to us and I had been expecting him to crawl back sooner. He had been probably weighing the benefits of joining us against the costs, those being his pride, his ego and his sense of self. If I were he, I would not have come back.

He didn't seem to like me much. What a real pity. It was obvious he was putting an effort into not acknowledging my presence and I did not like that bratty attitude he had put up. He was the one who came crawling to me, hands and knees, to introduce himself. He couldn't play that game after I had dissed his pathetic attempts. I had to call him out.

"We were sort of having a private conversation here, junior," I muttered lazily, looking at him like I was trying to be nice about kicking him out when we both knew I didn't give two shits about it. He didn't flinch—he smirked. It seemed as if he wasn't as socially retarded as I first expected because he had easily caught on to my game and was giving it back with almost as much zeal. He turned towards me, feigning surprise, raising his eyebrows sharply and placing a hand on his chest, pretending he had just noticed my presence.

"Oh, I apologize, 2. Please do continue," He spoke with the most mocking polite tone I had heard and I instinctively grit my teeth, biting my tongue hard at the number nickname. Instead of being fazed, he turned and walked away to speak with his stylist. That time he did not look back at all and I was the one glaring at his rear. I growled in the back of my throat, my eyes never leaving his retreating back. Nobody walked away from me! I wanted to drag the bitch back by the balls and make him kiss my feet. Who did he think he was?

While I was busy forming plans to mutilate his body, I had noticed that in the middle of that introduction the boy seemed to interest me way more than the girl. He had some ingredient that I didn't yet recognize but that spiced our interactions up. I felt challenged for the first time in my life ever since I entered the academy, easily pushing all of the other wimps on the floor.

I realized that Glimmer was trying to get my attention for some time now but I was too busy formulating his death in my mind to care. Listening to her high pitch voice and forced chuckles was grating my nerves. I was switching my attention back and forth from the two District 1 tributes, trying to keep up my playboy image while simultaneously intimidating the other boy, a task that would have been impossible if it were any other person in my place.

He finally decided to spare a glance in my direction and did a double-take when he noticed I was watching him back, murdering him with my eyes. We went into a staring contest, looking at each other, I in anger and he in undeserved satisfaction. I was close to not caring anymore about his bimbo partner and going over there to wipe his face clean of all his prominent features, his big eyes and his big mouth.

But I pulled myself together, praying in my head for patience: 'Jesus lord, protector of all that is good and holy, deliver me from annoying kids with stupid smiles and ridiculously overinflated egos.'

I didn't notice Glimmer had gone quiet until she touched my arm, causing me to flinch back at her, unwillingly breaking the eye contact. From the corner of my eye, I saw the other chuckle mockingly and I vowed to stitch his mouth shut.

I looked back at Glimmer in partial annoyance, hoping she was dense enough not to see it, simmering behind my eyes. She looked at me in concern before speaking again, "That's Marvel. I apologize for his rude behavior earlier…"

The rest of her sentence flew above my head because I had a filter that automatically screened out sentences that lacked common sense and/or relevancy. 'Marvel' was in fact a stupid name.

Something told me he was in our hearing range because he stiffened when she mentioned him. I knew he was listening to us carefully then and I smirked my vicious smile, looking back at Glimmer in renewed interest.

"Don't worry about it. I'm used to all the pussy-faced haters that are all bark and no bite," I stated, barely holding back my satisfaction as she paled, looking at him and stuttering to come up with a reply.

I didn't even pay attention to her, flailing like a fish without water, instead opting to look for the subtle reactions that gave away the other boy's thoughts. He straightened his back, his muscles flexing, his fists clenched by his sides, shaking. From the worried and sympathetic look on the stylists face, I could tell his façade was showered in emotions. He was weak. I was waiting in anticipation for him to come at me, throw a punch or two but he stayed put. If he wanted to fight verbally, I could do that too but could he step up to my level when it came to physical fights?

"I don't think you should underestimate him," Glimmer had finally come up with a response, after her puny brain had to deliberate if she wanted to break her ties with me or protect her partner's dignity. They must have known each other before coming to the Games because their interactions seemed practiced and her voice softened slightly when she spoke about him. If I didn't know better: that she was an easy ten and he was barely a seven, I would have thought they dated for a while. I didn't like the thought of that and I tried to convince myself it was because I had plans for her and me but there was a small, newly formed part of me, still weak, that whispered 'liar'.

It annoyed me to know that she was willing to stand up for him. I came there, wishing that they did not get along so it would be easier to cut the extra flab if she was not going to whine when he died. But alas, that was life and sometimes you had to deal with the collateral damage.

I wondered briefly if Clove would stand up for me. But then again I reminded myself that she would not have had the chance to, seeing as if had anybody made a comment even half as bad as mine, I would have slammed them against a wall while they begged for forgiveness.

I looked at her frowning face and I had to make a quick decision on whether I wanted to salvage the situation or let it burn. There was a hint of disappointment in her eyes that I did not think she was deep enough to achieve. For a second, I resented their relationship, not because I was jealous that she paid attention to him but because I saw a stronger bond in them than the one I had with Clove.

Oh yeah, they had definitely done sexual things to each other in hallways and showers. Had they dated for long? Unlikely. But had they experimented? Definitely. I wondered, looking at his curly hair being untangled by his long fingers, if that factor would inhibit my plans. Did the other boy still like Glimmer? Would he stop me if I tried making a move?

The fact that he knew fully well I was flirting openly and was not caring about it told me he must have been completely over whatever they had. Either that or he was good at hiding, trying to not give me the satisfaction of winning ground. It didn't matter. I liked hunting people down, pulling them out of their hiding spots before they were ready, exposing them. Maybe Marvel and I would be better friends that I originally thought.

I looked back between the two of them, noticing that a couple of people were surrounding the other boy, soothing him and advising him. They had moved out of my hearing range but I could see them patting him in the back and talking him out of his sulking. So, the little prince had everyone at his fingertips. But of course. They wouldn't want the opening District to look upset at the parade.

I knew I should have felt guilty about my actions and should have regretted hurting my alliance but at that moment I wanted nothing more than to break their ties and get him away from those people. I wanted him to see how it felt to be alone with no one to stroke your ego and wipe your tears. Brutus would be disappointed in me. After all, he had wasted a lot of time and effort in reciting his monologues about pack bonds.

I wondered if they were telling him to brush it off and pay no attention to me. I seethed, close to approaching them and making a scene, but chose against it, knowing if I wanted his respect, I would have to earn it. I couldn't be the one following him around; he had quite a lot of people doing that already. I would be the one he really wanted to have by his side but knew he would never get. I wanted to be the heart-breaker because the heart would always be the most fragile organ.

Glimmer walked away from me in silence—good riddance—and joined the rest of them, placing a hand on his shoulder to which he turned to face her. Seeing the smile back on his face made me feel like I had lost this round, though it was ridiculous to be wasting my energy on making him miserable. It was unnecessary.

I turned around swiftly, stomping back to the rest of my team in a huff, trying to avoid looking in their general direction in case I pissed myself off even more.

Brutus would end up assassinating me by the end of training.

* * *

District 12, the most pathetic excuse for a District, inhabited by lesser beings that lived like animals, outshone us. I admit that was embarrassing for all involved. It sucked badly. How could the miracle of a creation, namely me, be beaten by two people who had never moved past the Neanderthal stage of evolution?

When I saw them come out, surrounded by flames, I was close to stepping down and punching them off that carriage. Now, that would have been a show but I was afraid to catch on fire. Yes, that indeed would have been a show. So, instead my eyebrow twitched against my will, my mouth got dry in anticipation of a fight but I sucked it up, bit my tongue until I swallowed blood, looked away and kept smiling and waving, though the camera had little to no interest in the rest of us.

Honestly though, it was just the parade and I wasn't worrying much. There were other opportunities to gain sponsors and my dashing good looks and great fighting skills would not leave me stranded. So what if they had received a couple of sponsors today? It made things interesting. They had only managed to place a huge target on their backs and I didn't mind breaking a few backbones on my way to victory.

Clove was bitter at the District 12 girl, trying hard to pretend that she did not care about the lack of attention she was given. I knew deep inside she was plotting her revenge. Clove tried to put up the front that attention annoyed her but we all knew she fed off of it as much as I did but not nearly as much as the District 1 kid.

As all the chariots came back, I looked at the spotlight District in sadistic amusement, knowing that all the attention they were attracting would only work against them when it came to the tributes. Sometimes, it was better to merge with the crowd for the first few days, hiding and surviving, as the bigger tributes eliminated a big chunk of the competitors. It was a strategy I had been called a 'pussy' for suggesting.

I knew both of them were not the type to fight at the Cornucopia so I was ecstatic, knowing that eventually I would hunt them down, destroying their hopes and those of the superficial sponsors who were burning away their gifts. In the meantime, congrats to them. Let them enjoy a taste of fame.

My reaction, I believe, was acceptable, seeing as I was the number one nominee for throwing temper tantrums when I didn't get my way. Yeah, yeah, I admitted it. That night though, it appeared as if the District 1 flamingo-boy had beaten me to it.

He had his ways, that one. He stomped around furious, motioning wildly with his arms, complaining to his stylist like a little brat. His team was trying to get him to stop moving long enough to get him out of the failure of a costume but he was stubborn and instead got louder with each passing second, attracting more and more attention.

I was looking at him in pure amusement because he was entertaining and though I couldn't always catch what he was saying other than statements such as "thank you for making me the laughing stock" and "get away from me", I could only imagine the colorful words that were leaving his mouth. It was pleasantly surprising to see he had emotions other than idiocy and joy.

I could see he was pissed because all his smiles had long retreated underground and his voice had changed tone, his Capitol accent escaping him at times, turning his speeches more dramatic. I had heard from people other than Brutus about how he had been raised in the Capitol and trained there for a while, a fact I thought wasn't fair. I didn't know the extent to which that knowledge had spread to the outside Districts but he had been lucky because he did not have to volunteer, having been randomly selected. Since it had been the luck of the draw, the odds not being in his favor, to pick him, the critics were silenced and had to admit defeat. It was either that or the Capitol had threatened them harshly. You never knew these days what or 'who' lady luck was.

Back in the present conflict, Glimmer was angry as well though I doubt she knew why; she just liked to follow people around like a sheep. She fed on their emotions. She wasn't speaking but did frequently agree with the points the other was making.

His mentor, who I recognized as blond and beautiful Gloss, was attempting to get him to settle down but he was not trying too hard and I thought Gloss was deliberately letting the boy vent in order to perhaps intimidate the other tributes. I could see a couple of them were tuning in to the debate, interested at its conclusion. I wondered what Gloss was feeling at the moment because it couldn't have been humiliation or embarrassment, seeing as he was smirking to himself. I couldn't help but think he was smarter than Brutus and I was scared of what he had told Marvel.

I barely turned around to ask Clove a question when I heard the ripping sound of fabric and shifted my attention back the incident where the District 1 boy had managed to tear open his shirt with his bare hands, revealing his tanned abdomen, flexing in the harsh lights. A couple of gasps and sighs were released simultaneously as I started to realize where he was going with this. The little fucker was attempting another play at the sponsors even after we all knew he was their all time favorite. He didn't need to be doing any of this. Brutus had mentioned that he had so many people lined up to present him with gifts that they wouldn't be done even if they send some once a day, twice on Sundays. So he mustn't have been doing it for the lost sponsors. It was simply for the pride, a concept I could understand, which made it all the more painful to accept his little strip tease show.

"What the actual fuck?" I whispered under my breath in disbelief at Clove who shrugged, not taking her eyes off the undressing boy whose smooth skin helped the sticky, sweaty clothes ease of his body. We were both pretending we didn't know what he was doing because it was better than getting upset at its unfairness.

"This is pretty hot," She muttered back, not even sparing me a glance and I was left speechless, still staring as he revealed more of his skin to the hungry eyes of the tribute girls. His outie bellybutton made an appearance followed by the sharp V of his hips as his pants disappeared. My mouth was dry in anger and anticipation. I didn't know what to do with myself—I felt out of control.

I placed a hand behind my neck and into my short, blond hair, frowning in confusion as the dirty blond boy stripped down to his black boxers, grabbing the destroyed garments by bending down slowly and throwing them unceremoniously at the stylist who was stuttering and quivering in surprise, inching down in fear to pick up her ruined work. Gloss was trying hard to keep a straight face, but chuckles escaped him and he turned around to hide them graciously behind his hand. His easygoing demeanor was clearly egging Marvel on because I saw the green eyes go to his mentor, looking for acknowledgement, before they lit up at the humor dancing behind the older man's expression.

The kid wasn't as chubby as I previously thought and without the clothes on, his figure was much more taut and fit. He was clearly trained and I was mistaken in thinking I could outshine him that quickly. He had a broad chest that contrasted his lean, small waist and the boxers were tight enough around his hips to leave nothing to the imagination. I realized I was staring but so was the entirety of the room as the boy stretched, flexing his abs and advertising himself. His eyes glided around the room to meet mine and he winked so subtly, I thought I was becoming delusional. When he looked away, a side-ways grin appeared on his face and my mouth reflexively wet, further scaring me. He was such a little whore!

One of my eyebrows rose as I squinted to look at the beautifully-scripted tattoo on his right hip, starting below his navel and curving around his back. Obviously, I could not read what it said but my curiosity piqued as I followed the contours of the writing staining his fit skin. The kid had more layers than I previously thought. He had more balls than I thought.

The envy took over again when I realized his little stunt had stolen all the attention. The brat had stomped his feet—wailed out loud—and suddenly people thought he was cute, offering him plush toys, squeezing his stupid, chubby cheeks. I didn't know if I was mad at his immature plot or at the fact that I didn't come up with it first but I didn't dwell on it too much, opting for sulking and looking away to not give him the satisfaction of grabbing _my_ attention. I was lying to myself and I knew it. The anger ran through my veins like boiling water, sweat building up on my brow. I met Clove's eyes and hers rolled as she told me to 'stop pouting and enjoy the show'. It wasn't hard to realize that he would be playing the cute, funny angle in addition to his already established reputation.

It was challenging to keep my eyes away from the scene because what aspect of the room could possibly be more exciting than a naked boy who had just been groomed to look presentable. I mentally flinched at my train of thought, choosing to suppress the memory of me ever thinking that; nevertheless, my eyes returned to him. I knew I was sulking.

Against the advice of his mentor, who had managed to regain his composure long enough to utter one professional statement, he resumed to stroll out of the room where the photographers and interviewers were perched to ambush the tributes like vultures. I glanced at him in shock, trying to comprehend if he was being serious. Had he not had enough fun for one night?

When he turned around to face the door, I noticed he had another tattoo in the middle of his shoulder blades, marking his strong back, and this time I could see it was the number one, beautifully designed. The raw skin around it made me think it was fairly recent. I wondered if it hurt. I suddenly wanted one but I thought there was nothing that permanent in my life that deserved the honor of branding me forever.

Opening the huge door with some effort, he didn't hesitate to flip the finger to the rest of us in the room before stepping outside only to be hauled by the noise of the crowd. I could hear the cheering and the screams even when the door was slammed shut, echoing through the room like the starting gong in the arena. Nobody spoke.

I looked at Clove, who snickered amusedly, and I looked at Glimmer, who was still confused beyond belief. I looked at Gloss, who was flushing red, ordering someone to give him some article of clothing that would be able to cover the disrobed boy. He jogged behind Marvel with a silent apology to the rest of us. He didn't mean it—he was clearly happy.

Most tributes went back to their previous conversations, pretending that the incident never happened. Some rolled their eyes, some blushed and cooed and some sulked in defeat but not one of them seemed to find this as farfetched as I. Did nobody think the perverted show was weird?

I could tell that he was going to get sponsors from it because, after all, I was the one that mentioned the sex appeal factor. Maybe I should have gone further to assert myself. I must not have pulverized his backbone yet because he seemed comfortable pushing me back.

I knew after this fiasco, his ego would be inflated back to its original size before he encountered me, the only person in his life able to dish it back to him. The size that allowed him to think he could stroll up to any tribute and introduce himself, treating the ritual as if he was doing them a favor.

The _apparently_ good-looking boy with curly hair and tattooed skin had yet to realize that if there were to be a pack, I would be the definite leader. If there were no pack, I would eat him alive with my bare teeth.


	2. Satan's Ira Part I

**Chapter 2 – Satan's Ira**

**Part I/II**

Marvel's POV

The entire group was gathered around the commotion happening in the middle of the training grounds, where from what I could hear people were screaming and cheering. I rolled my eyes, dropping my spear carelessly on the cushioned ground to approach the situation. It seemed like a force to get in trouble so early. All this bad blood could easily be spilled in the arena but it seemed like someone had to assert himself. So it was to no one's surprise, especially mine, when I saw big, bulky, bully Cato, screaming at a younger boy, intimidating him with his massive form. Typical.

As I shoved my way to the front of the circle, standing beside an amused Clove, I noticed that this fight had gotten every tribute to pay attention much like my little fiasco yesterday. I had been momentarily blinded by the furious camera flashes and I was certain, though Gloss kept denying it, that people had ran their hands down my chest at some point in that five minute interval. I hoped I had gotten back what I had lost because I was getting anxious about going in to the arena; I couldn't start thinking I would have to do it on my own.

My skin flushed again at the memory. I shook my head, turning towards the little District 2 girl. I nudged her, shrugging my shoulders to ask her about the background behind this oh-so-important fight, as I was certain it had to be critical in our survival if Cato was so invested in it.

"Something about a knife," she muttered back, seemingly as disinterested as I in this case. She just enjoyed the look of pain in the other boy's eyes. I grinned, preparing to chuckle at the sheer idiocy of the situation before I was interrupted by Cato's bellowing voice, angrily echoing off the walls. Yes, I assumed it was indeed about a knife, seeing as he was referring to it multiple times. I loved how he got so 'eloquent' when he was angered and that in turn flustered him more. I liked seeing him fidget; his pink tongue kept making appearances to wet his lips. It was entertaining to play with him at those times.

He was pushing the poor boy, who was stuttering uncontrollably, repeatedly accusing him, "Where's my knife, huh?" The boy seemed to have no idea what he was talking about, clearly lost. I didn't think Cato could see his miscalculations in his rage though. All he could see was red at those times. He wanted blood when he was flustered because he felt insecure; he had to prove to himself he was in control. It was sad.

Very rapidly the encounter went from Cato casually standing there with his hands on his waist and his powerful chest stretching the spandex shirt to him physically assaulting a kid half his size, yelling, "You took my knife! I put it right there—Admit it!"

I was shaking my head in ridicule, placing a palm over my mouth temporarily and then using it to motion in the quarrel's general direction in what has come to be the universal 'what-the-fuck' motion. I looked at Glimmer on the other side of the circle, questioning her with my eyes, 'This is a joke right?'

She glared back at me, shaking her head in disapproval and giving back the universal 'stay-out-of this-or-he'll-cut-your-throat' motion to which I raised my eyebrows, unable to contain myself any longer. That had to be the most unnecessary event in the timeline of my entire life and it was happening right next to the climax of said timeline.

"Guys—" I started talking, moving forward much to Glimmer's annoyance, to break up the fight. Her eyes were popping out of her head as if she was trying to push me back solely using her willpower. Clove opened her mouth to protest but closed it again, opting to let me get close to the fire if I wanted to. She could be so sadistic at times. I couldn't tell if she liked me or not. She definitely liked Cato because she was always by his side, glowering at the rest of his fangirls.

"Admit it! Admit it before—" Cato was still echoing, completely ignoring my presence and the other boy seemed close to tears, holding his hands up and trying to extract himself from the situation. I felt bad for him. If I wanted to live dangerously, I would purposely edge Cato on too—oh wait, I did do that.

"Oh, for god's sake," I grumbled, stepping in between them, facing a very angry Cato who looked at me in surprise as if he didn't even notice me step in the circle let alone get that close. I raised my hands in a defensive pose, trying to calm him down, but quite frankly I was getting frustrated with his temper interrupting the little training time we were supplied with.

"He stole. My. Knife." Cato offered one more time, in case I had missed that detail during his long and elaborate outburst. He was pissed because his lip was curled and his eyes reflected rage. His fists were clenched by his sides, turning the knuckles white, and I could see his chest heave in effort. He was showing the same symptoms as a trapped, wild animal and I should have backed off.

Before I could control my mouth, my eyes widened in astonishment at how serious he was about this stupid, fucking case. I glanced left and right once, scanning to see if anyone else thought this time-out was as uncalled-for as I, only to be met by anxious stares, before uttering, "Who gives a shit?" as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I realized only too late that my last statement was a big mistake. I didn't know what gave it away. It could have been Glimmer, slapping her hand over her mouth with a gasp, or Clove, resting her hand on her shaking forehead, or the kid behind me, scrambling away to hide behind the wall of tributes surrounding us. I think it was the fact that Cato was fuming though. He inched closer to me, his teeth grit and the veins in his neck bulging. For a second, he frightened me with his frame. The second before my fight-or-flight instinct kicked in. After that, nothing frightened me; I had been through too much shit and survived solely using my adrenaline. I was a fighter and knowing he was one too, it was evident we would but heads.

He grabbed the front of my shirt, yanking me towards him roughly, and I tried to stay composed even though he was practically raising me off the ground with the height advantage he possessed. His biceps were swelling and I could feel his hands shaking in anger. This would not end well for either of us and I knew I had to be the bigger man.

"Don't do this," I murmured warningly, reminding him that a fight between us would not only get us severe punishment but also alert the others of the divide in our pack. However, by the look in his eyes, I realized he was not even listening to me. He thought I was challenging him. He thought he needed to defend his position as king. I should have controlled my tone better, tried to soothe him gently not threaten him off. It was funny how I saw things much differently in retrospect…hindsight and all.

I didn't have time to utter another word, nor prevent his fist from connecting hard to my jaw. I felt the searing pain, he released me and I skid backwards on the floor at the impact, barely stopping myself from falling on my ass. My hands shook on the smooth floor, twitching in hopes of soon getting a chance at some payback. I raised myself up from my crouching position too fast for my brain's liking, feeling the blood rushing in my veins and listening to the ringing sound in my ears from the hit. I felt disoriented; I wondered if he had given me a concussion.

As my eyes hurriedly found his, I thought I would try to soothe the situation but he was smirking at me, egging me on with his smug look. He motioned for me to come get it and though I was too frazzled to hear anything, I read his lips as he called me a 'pussy' once again. My aching jaw clenched in fury because he had crossed the line. I knew if I didn't hurt him, I would start crying in frustration, not knowing what to do. So I charged forward without thinking twice, the desire to violate cursing through my body. The bitch wanted to die. That hit took away the last of my practical common sense, knocking it out cold for a long duration.

I heard Glimmer screech like a Banshee as another boy held her back by her wrist but I couldn't make out her words. Her eyes pleaded with me for a split second before Cato's baby blues sparked a new flame in me. He could already override her in my mind. The other tributes were all talking at the same time, reducing their speech to a buzzing noise. My entire attention narrowed down to my target. I was in fight mode.

I rammed into him with my upper body, grabbing him by the waist and twisting so both of us collided hard on the floor, me on top of him, my legs on either side of his waist. I knew from his wild thrashing and the way his hands practically ripped open my spandex shirt that at this point it was all or nothing. I pushed him on the ground, my hands shaking against his flexing pectorals, trying to contain him to which he head-butted me, our foreheads smashing painfully, causing my eyes to go dark before I felt the warm wetness leaking down my face. The metallic stench of blood almost activated my gag reflex but I held back though I wanted to spit on his pretty face, distracted by the need to save myself. I definitely had a concussion now because for a second I felt like my brain was going to pass out, my brain felt heavy. I could see his lip was split from the previous impact; the blood was filling his mouth and spilling down his lips. I silently wished he chocked on it.

We rolled around on the floor, the world spinning as he moved to trap me against the cold floor. I shivered as the blood fell from his lip on my cheek. His eyes looked blank of any emotion. He kept throwing furious punches at me, some connecting with my stomach painfully, causing me to choke on the little air he had left between us, some missing completely, his mouth hissing as he hit the solid floor. I blocked some of them with my arms, feeling the bruises forming on the violated skin. It hurt.

We were grappling with each other, twisting and turning, wrestling the other to the floor without mercy as the other tributes started cheering viciously, betting on us without mercy, hoping that the two strongest competitors would inhibit each other from winning like we were doing right then. I hated them so much for pointing at our struggles with smirks instead of stopping us. I wanted to stand up and go after them next, beat them into unconsciousness. However, I was a little busy at the moment. I didn't think I would be in shape for anything extra after dealing with Cato's wrath problems. My chest ached with every breath I took.

The rage had numbed my body and I did not even feel pain of the many injuries. I struggled with his shirt, trying to throw him off, while he moved to choke me, his big hands scratching off my delicate skin. He had nailed me to the ground with his frame and I hadn't even noticed how deadly he was until my body trembled against his solid one with no way to escape. I flailed panicking, lifting my hips, writhing violently against his sturdy body but he was heavy, crushing me against him, and I was starting to lose oxygen, his hands never twitching against my slowing pulse. The exhaustion of the fight was settling in and for a second I thought about giving in because maybe that would get him to settle. My fingers unclenched from his shirt, gently lying on the floor in submission.

I wanted to hurt him so bad. I needed to because he was killing me and I was letting him. I had been trained to kill and yet I couldn't remember what they taught me. I couldn't think. A stupid part of my brain kept holding me back, reminding me not to damage him because I didn't want him at a disadvantage in the arena. I didn't like the way he scrunched up his face when he was in pain.

I struggled against him physically as my brain struggled to decide my approach. The voices got louder, almost deafening. I could see colors but blurry, shapes disappearing along with my will. The blood running down was turning my vision red and after one more glance at his eyes, I couldn't see at all, about to lose consciousness.

Glimmer was screaming my name in fear; Clove was screaming his in disappointment. It was amazing what your brain could distinguish when it was about to bail on you.

One moment his weight was there, the next he was yanked off me, allowing my lungs to fill with oxygen as I choked hard, turning to the side and laying my head on the cool floor. The pain rushed back all at once and I was aching in so many different places that I thought I would pass out. I panicked. I must have had internal bleeding of some sort. It was as if his touch had been holding back all the pain and once he was taken away from me there was no blockade; it consumed me hungrily—left me vulnerable.

I could see Glimmer's face right above me, worried and teary-eyed. I could hear Cato screaming in protest to the people holding him down and I painfully sat up to adjust my vision on him. I had to see how bad I had hurt him because if I had done even half the damage he had done to me, we would be in trouble at the arena. It hurt to stay conscious and I was fighting through the eerie haze.

They were attempting to pin him to the floor, holding his arms behind his back in what seemed like an excruciating angle. I was scared they were going to break them if he didn't stop fidgeting. He was cursing hard, bloody and bruised, thrashing like a wild animal, further opening his wounds. His brow bled profusely and his lips stained the floor when they shoved his face against it. They quickly called for a tranquilizer and I shifted in objection, voicing that it wasn't necessary but nobody was listening to us.

I tried to edge forward, crawling miserably on the floor with my raw knees, to try and talk him out of fighting them because you should never fight the Capitol but other peacekeepers were holding me back from the back of my tattered shirt and all I knew was that now we were both screaming but for different reasons than before.

They were forcibly dragging me away from him, agitating my already raw body and I thought I was going to lose it because I couldn't understand the reasons behind their actions and the frustration was making my eyes burn. I got slammed against the floor at the same time that our eyes made contact for the first time since he released me and I caught a glimpse of the violent flinch that left his body at the sound of my arms hitting the ground.

I wasn't going to hurt him now- I was only trying to help!

Their presence was making the conclusion worse. I hadn't wanted any of that to happen. I hadn't wanted him on the floor crazed in anger. I hadn't wanted Glimmer upset and above all I hadn't wanted to lose my pack.

They brought the syringe and plunged it into his arm carelessly, making him collapse on the floor in unconsciousness, fighting and yelling until the last second. Only then, once his eyes closed and his face hid in between his fallen arms, did I realize how hard I was screaming because now I was the only one, terrorizing the training room with my threats. My throat felt dry and scratchy. I couldn't even understand my own rambling and it took me time to realize Glimmer was clutching my hand the entire time, begging for me to stop.

As soon as I turned to look at her, my mouth falling agape about to apologize, I felt the stab in my upper arm, my brain become heavy and everything turned black.

* * *

I wouldn't say waking up in pain was the worst part of my afternoon, seeing as I had managed well with the prescribed painkillers thanks to the sponsors once again who, for me, had started donating before we even got to the arena. They realized if they didn't, I wouldn't make it to that step in the first place.

It wasn't the stumbling around the room with half-consciousness, drugged up to the point of delusions, either. Nor was it my battered-up reflection in the mirror, staring back at me with bloodshot eyes, a broken nose, dark stitches on my cheek and a massive, mauve bruise on the side of my jaw. I looked like shit. I had been surprised to note he had not broken any of my teeth or worse, shattered my entire jaw. Nor was it eating with said bruise and managing to keep the food down with side-effect nausea that the drugs induced.

It was the conversation that I had to endure when I was eating, the humiliation that I felt running icily through my veins when I heard the disappointment in my mentor's voice. The mentor who I looked up to, practically worshipped. The mentor who smiled at me when I did well and fluffed my hair when I fell on my ass, grunting in impatience. The mentor whom I had promised I would win.

As we sat there, me with my head down in shame, Glimmer holding one of my hands and our District representative pursing her lips and holding her shaking palms across her lap, Gloss was pacing up and down the room giving extensive, scolding monologues directed solely towards my mistake. I thought I was too sick to be treated that way but I knew deep down that I deserved it so I put myself through the verbal mutilation that was an angry Gloss. I wanted to make it up to him.

"What the hell was going through your mind, kid? Do you not want to live? Do you not want to win? Because if that is the case stop wasting my _fucking_ time and go jump off the top floor already!" The woman flinched at the cursing, coughing slightly; Glimmer and I flinched at his tone as he continued throwing insults at me. The berating had been going on since I had managed to retain consciousness for more than a few minutes and I doubted it would stop anytime soon.

"Do you think you can win this on your own? …_Answer_ me! Do you?" He provoked me, making an effort to retain from touching me, and I had to bite the inside of my mouth to keep my thoughts swallowed. 'This would be over soon and then he would calm down again,' I kept telling myself, gulping. I had to convince my flighty mind that Gloss really did care about my wellbeing because at times like these, when he glared at me heatedly, raising his voice, it escaped me. If it weren't for the fact that he had been there to pull me up from my own vomit when no one else had, I would not be sitting here quietly and enduring his treatment. He was all I had back home though and I wanted to trust him.

"No, sir," I muttered submissively, wanting to look down but knowing better than not having enough respect to maintain eye contact. He was staring at me, shooting question after question, and choking me up deliberately. The one time Glimmer had tried to stand up for me, whimpering that it wasn't my fault, he had shut her up so bad that her shoulders shook and her bottom lip quivered but she did not cry. I was proud of her then.

"Are you _smart _enough to win this on your own?" He screamed at me and I gulped before answering with a steady voice. Chipping away at my pride, knowing that it was one of my weakest spots, Gloss must have been very mad at me. He liked to break me down completely because he believed it was the only way he could build me up again stronger. It hurt more than he imagined.

"No sir, I am not," I replied defeated, knowing that that was what he wanted to hear coming from my bruised lips. I had not reached the point where I completely agreed with him on the inside about the events that had lead to today but I knew I would eventually. He seemed to be always right and I always found my way back to his side, venting in a breaking voice and seeking his approval.

"Are you _strong_ enough to win this on your own?" He continued his attack on my ego as if I wasn't already feeling like shit. I tried hard to hold strong, hoping he could see I was close to my breaking point.

"No sir, I am not," I barely whispered, clutching Glimmer's hand to try and comfort myself. She was bowing her head in indignity and I felt guilty at having brought this upon her. She had warned me against it but I had not listened. Sometimes I felt bad for underestimating her, automatically screening out her opinions as if they were useless. I knew a lot of people treated her like shit and, as her partner I should have been different. She deserved more especially after all she had done for me.

"_Who_ are your allies?" He shrieked at me, practically close to grabbing me from my clothes but settling against it, having seen the state of my torso and the way my arms flinched in front of my face by reflex. My pathetic state was affecting him; I could tell by the way he was panting.

"District 2 and 4, sir," I mumbled, a bit disbelievingly, my bottom lip quivering. It seemed as if Cato had made it quite clear in the beginning that we were merely a burden he was supposed to carry around. We were nothing but scapegoats to him. I did not like to stick around when I wasn't wanted.

"Who will fight by your side, boy? Who will protect your fucking ass when you need it? Who will watch over to make sure you don't get eaten alive in the middle of the night?" He raged on, emphasizing each sentence more by smacking his palm on the table, causing the silverware to cling. It was clear the District representative was not going to do anything to stop him. She was probably too scared to speak, fidgeting in her seat and wringing her hands. I felt bad for her having to be there.

"District 2 and 4, sir."

The room fell into silence as Gloss turned around, running a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh. He walked to the window, leaning against it, one hand on his waist as he spoke more softly this time, the voice I was used to hearing coming back. I relaxed, my shoulders slumping in relief, knowing he wouldn't be as emotionally abusive but I prepared myself for the worst part, the part that my guilt would take the role of the abuser, eating me away from the inside.

"You must understand, Marvel," He sighed deeply, allowing me to take it all in before continuing,

"You're better than this, little one. You know your life depends on these bonds. There is a reason why the Careers get far in this game. It is because they set aside personal differences and, for a temporary period of time, place total trust in their comrades." He refused to look back at me and I guessed it was because the shift in conversation was bringing up repressed memories for him, his back had tensed and his tone had shifted to a melancholic one. I had never dared to ask him about his victory and I had been too young to remember anything that year's Games. I wondered if he thought about it every day of his life he had to train Glimmer and I. I wondered if I brought back morbid memories for him.

"I know you are going to say that he started it first. He was the one who made the first move—" I was about to interrupt him to deny it but he beat me to my point, "But you and I both know how it went down. You exploited his weakness, Marvel." That was the part that I was dreading. That was the part that made my stomach churn in disgust at myself. The glimmer of myself that remained pure, surrounded by the darkness of my past, told me I had acted how the Capitol had told me to and left it at that. I did not yet know if that meant I did well or I screwed up. I was confused.

"Not only that, but you displayed his weakness out in the open for all his enemies to see. Is that smart now, boy? You saw he was struggling to establish his authority and instead of banding together to create the illusion of a strong, united pack, you provoked him! You went against him. You challenged him in the open, knowing fully well how he was going to react. You invited that punch to the face."

The way he phrased it made it sound worse than it actually was. I never meant to go that far with my teasing. Sure, we pushed each other around, insulted and mocked. He was the one who had chosen that type of relationship. He had asked for a fight and he had to handle the consequences.

Some part of me knew I was lying to myself, knowing that subconsciously I went in with the intention of seeing him hurt because he had wounded me in the past. Because a part of me felt superior, knowing I was the only one to note his soft spot, knowing I was the only one to stand up to him. He might have decided our dynamic but I was doing as much as him, if not more to maintain it.

"How can he possibly trust you after this?" I realized I had missed a few lines in his speech but it didn't matter because that sentence brought me back full force and I opened my mouth to speak, defend my actions to the judge, but nothing came out but a small gasp. I was reminded of him when he struggled with words, flushing and blurting out sentences that would further dig him into a hole, so in order to wipe the memory out, I started talking without my brain's permission. I stared hiding.

"I would never—" I stuttered, trying to find the right words, but my brain was being vengeful, already having deserted me. Everyone in the room had turned their eyes towards my babbling self, ready to hear what I was going to spew out next, their expectations making my failure deeper.

I looked to Glimmer for help but she looked down and I understood that even she did not believe me right now. I had taken away not only my security in these games but hers too. It wasn't fair.

I started to feel the soft nuances of panic, swimming through my veins, as my mouth twitched, "I didn't mean to touch him—I would never hurt him…"

Shit, but I already had. I had upset him. I had given him to the Capitol.

"…in the arena. We're allies—he…"

Hates me. He wants to kill me. He thinks I am nothing but a useless piece of garbage.

"He knows I have his back because I do. I will fight by his side. It's not over, Gloss."

I was incredulous at my incoherent response. My logic had retreated in the back, laughing cruelly at my attempts. I was starting to feel the jolt of an anxiety attack at the quantity of conflicted emotions running against each other through my brain. I hated the fact that I couldn't control my emotions to the point that at times the attacks would consume me, control me. It was one of the many side effects of training to kill since a young age. It made me fidgety. It made me distrustful.

Glimmer smiled immediately, trying to ease me out of my tension by gently touching my hair. She had a sensor for my struggles and she had been my haven for a while, singing to me and cuddling me against her. This time her fingers burned and I flinched away from her pitiful face, placing my head in my hands, trying to shake myself back into composure. I wanted my mind to stop working for a second. I wanted to go back to the—no! I had given that up forever.

Letting go of her hand was a mistake because I could sense the feelings of dread and insecurity come after me faster, sending shivers down my spine. It felt as if I was more alone than ever. I wanted to leech to Gloss' shirt or Glimmer's lap but the attack kept me hostage, frozen in spot. Nobody spoke and I felt the weight of the entire day on my shoulders, almost breaking my back. I wanted to whimper and I knew I had to run.

I stood up abruptly, my knees buckling and the world spinning, heading for my room and no one stopped me even though I stumbled, balancing on the wall blindly. Glimmer whispered my name brokenly while Gloss inched forward to catch me, his arms spread, but they didn't make another move when I reached the door handle. They had gotten to understand how I dealt with my weakness. They knew I hated showing it to others. They knew I hated the pity and they knew I had to come to them. I had to be ready before they could help me. They were all aware, though it was never mentioned out-loud, of my anxiety attacks. The Capitol, with all its might and glory, was at a loss when it came to my mood problems so they tried to turn a blind eye and not admit defeat. They would never admit it had been their fault.

Closing the door to my dark bedroom with shaking palms, I slid on the floor, hurting when the wall touched my fragile back, hiding my head in between my knees, clutching my hair. I didn't bother to change out of the scrubs the doctors had lent me. I didn't bother to turn on the lights or get into my comfy bed. I just sat there on my ass, wanting to hurt myself, wanting to take it all back, wanting to see him and just sobbing silently, feeling the salty tears burn tracks into my face.

I had not shed a single tear when torn away from my deranged family, who had stood there, awkwardly swaying at my distant, yawning self. I had not hugged them, yelling for the peacekeeper to take them away when I saw my mother start tearing up. She had no idea what was happening; she just felt the suffocating aura. My dad had rasped out 'win' but all I wanted to do was punch him in his drunken face.

Yesterday, travelling the short distance to the magical city, I had looked out of the window and thought I could do this without breaking down. Glimmer had sat by my side, sleeping softly on my shoulder, and Gloss had sat across from me, silently staring at my expression to look for any cracks. I had been strong enough to earn an impressed look from my mentor's gray eyes when I waved and kissed the window at the fans, screaming my name. That cheery, pompous attitude had been my angle before I had meet blond and bossy Cato, before I knew how much of an impact he was going to make on my life. I was scared of him because every time he walked by me smugly, his strength made me look weak.

The Games had not even started and I was a wreck, lying on the cool floor with a wet, sticky red face. I stayed in that position for a long time, dozing off frequently, until I felt Gloss' strong arms pick me up and tuck me in the unused bed.

"Am I dead, Gloss?" I had murmured in delirium to which he had chuckled, dipping the mattress and sitting by my side.

"Not yet, brat. You gotta do some clean up though, eh?" He muttered back and I couldn't reply because his even breathing had pulled me towards sleep. I felt my hand wrap around the silky material of his pants, silently telling him to stay until I fell asleep, and he didn't talk anymore, sitting next to me like he had done many times when I was young. I was glad I had him and I realized exactly what he had meant for me to understand. I needed somebody to depend on in the arena. I needed someone to let me know I could close my eyes because they were there, strong as a fortress. I needed another blond when this one hugged me good-bye.

The last thought in my mind before Gloss' hand erased them with his ruffling was:

"Cato."


	3. Satan's Ira Part II

**Chapter 3 – Satan's Ira**

**Part II/II**

Marvel's POV

Standing in front of his door was very nerve-racking and I did not feel too well after locking myself in my room for a couple of hours. The light outside was too strong and my stomach was eating itself from starvation. I had woken up from a nightmare, sweaty and panicked, squirming in pain from sleeping on my bruised ribs. I was sure my eyes were swollen, partially because of the effects that the drugs had on me. I had not looked at the mirror, however, because I didn't want to be discouraged. I had to do this because I couldn't stand one more dream of his blue eyes being the last thing I saw before he slit my throat open.

I knocked again, gingerly tapping my knuckles to the metal plate, when he did not answer the first time. I looked around to see if Clove or Brutus would make an appearance but the common room was silent. I didn't know what his team thought of me yet. I heard footsteps shuffling on the floor from the other side as he moved to get the door. I could hear his insistent coughing and I lowered my eyes in shame. He seemed to be in pain. My heart started to race and my palms begun to sweat when I heard the lock click. I licked my chapped lips, preparing myself for the encounter as the handle moved and he appeared on the other side, disheveled and swaying.

"Shit," was the first thought that ran through my head and it was so potent that it erased all my pre-recited speeches because he was standing there in front of me, looking at me through a swollen, blue eye. The blood had cluttered unattractively on his bottom lip where I had split it open. His forehead had the same stitches I was flaunting on my cheek. He startled visually when he saw me behind his door, his eyes widening unevenly because one of his eyebrows was swollen. As he leaned his arm on the dorm frame, I could see the many scrapes on his knuckles. I couldn't tell if he was blocking the door in a position of power or supporting himself in a state of vulnerability.

We stood there analyzing the damage we had given, I, with my hands hanging uselessly down my sides, and he, with his head on his arm, leaning on the doorway wearily. I could see he was more drugged than I because his usually clear eyes were dulled to a navy blue and he was breathing so slowly I thought the unexpected encounter didn't affect him at all. Yet I knew that silly assumption could not be true because his body was still stiff in an aggressive pose and his eyes had never left mine, analyzing my face distrustfully. He was significantly less injured than I was, which made me believe he was on different sort of drugs. He licked his lips in preparation to talk and I spoke first, unprepared for his blow.

"Ugh," I stalled, hesitating when his blue orbs raced up my body from the way I was holding my ribs to my startled eyes, "Can I come in?" My voice was low with a slight rasp and I waited for his answer as if it was a verdict that would determine the fate of the world. He faltered, frowning.

"I don't think so," He muttered back plainly. He wasn't smirking anymore; he wasn't getting any satisfaction. He was blank of emotion, his eyes blinking at me, lost. I wondered if his mentor had given him the same talk. Brutus wasn't known for being a very talkative guy. I had heard that even when he did speak, he spoke in riddles. He was bitter about his victory and he did not believe in giving his mentees free help; he made them work for it. I doubt he had made Cato feel like I had felt when I had shattered on the ground for Gloss to pick up. After all, that was Cato we were talking about; could he even feel emotions like guilt and regret?

"Alright," I murmured dejectedly, "Alright, I am going to stay right here then."

He was looking at me expectantly, raising his eyebrows in annoyance, trying to assess the purpose of my visit but that would be impossible to discover without me knowing it first. Why had I come? I had walked there, limping in to the elevator in the middle of the night, knowing I needed to take action to reverse my mistake but not knowing what that action would be just yet. I had gone on intuition and I had failed because all my emotions betrayed me.

He shifted his weight slightly and I flinched lightly without meaning too. His eyes turned darker at the movement, freezing me on the spot. When he opened his destroyed lips, I took a huge breath in, clutching my fist.

"Don't waste my time, 1," He snapped bitterly and I drew in another shaky gasp to muster enough courage to go through with my only backup plan. He had gone back to the impersonal nicknames before the Games had even started. I admit I had used them first and only now did I realize how much they stung. They transformed tributes into functions, machines for entertainment. They took away our identity, left us blank, made us less human.

"I'm—" I started before he talked over me hurriedly, apparently having decided that I was going to keep standing there like an imbecile. My voice shook until it collapsed to silence and he took over, loud and clear.

"Lemme guess, you wanna know if you're still part of _my_ pack? Forget it! I'd be—" his voice was raising with every passing second and I hurried to fit in my sentence because I was getting scared of what words he would utter. My shield was down and I was panicking, scrambling to pick up the broken pieces while he kept pushing me to the floor, kicking me when I was down.

"Look, I'm—" I tried again but he was overriding me with his boisterous front, hardly allowing me enough time to think, let alone phrase my emotions carefully enough so he would understand. It seemed as if I had already set him off without even opening my mouth.

"—caught dead before I protect your stupid ass! You little _bitch_ think you can go against me that easily? Is that it, little boy?" He was shouting, already in a loop, and it seemed impossible to make him listen. It was also impossible for me to stop listening to him and his words. They were starting to sting badly. I could feel it especially in my eyes because the glare from the hallway light was already irritating them. I thought about running but I had been taught to always stay put.

"Cato, wait—" I kept trying, getting frustrated with each passing moment that he kept going at me much like Gloss had gone after me previously, chasing me down and causing me to lose control. I couldn't again, not in front of Cato. I couldn't let him know because he would hurt me. I was making an attempt to appease him and he was not even giving me a chance to say two freaking words! _I_ was standing in front of _his_ door. If he had so much to say to me, he should have come up to me before!

"Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit! Don't speak to me now. Don't speak to me _ever_ actually! You're dead to me, 1," He was screaming now with a raspy voice from his earlier outburst. He was moving forward, one hand clutching the side of the door in a deathly grasp. I couldn't step back and I was staring in morbid fascination at the red staining his face. His lip split open again and the blood was dripping down his chin and onto his white pajama t-shirt. Three droplets fell, each taking my breath away and I felt my vision shake before I opened my mouth to explode.

"Jesus fuck! I'm sorry!" I bellowed, angered to the point of tears which were gathered in my eyes but I refused to let fall. I wasn't weak! I wasn't but fuck if he didn't make me lose control. I felt like my dignity had dropped to hell below earth and I hated my mentor for even making me feel guilty enough to give up my self-respect and offer it to this emotionless fucker. The medicine was not letting me put up my usual barrier to protect myself from the emotions. Without my front, I was lost, small compared to the darkness inside me.

I didn't miss the way he shook his head in surprise, falling back into the door. I didn't miss the way he eyed my cheeks. I knew he wasn't studying my stitches so I grit my teeth against the noise, swallowing down the whimper, building in the back of my throat. He finally fell into silence and it was my turn to start rambling uncontrollably. The words spilled out of my mouth, each one almost coming back and slapping me in the face. I felt degraded and without support.

"I am fucking sorry I provoked you! Believe it or not, I didn't mean for it to go that far. I didn't want to start a fight because in case you haven't noticed you're a big guy, Cato, and you have the potential to destroy people. Oh, yeah! You fucked me up pretty badly as it is. Actually, you almost fucking killed me! And yet I'm standing here, apologizing, because I feel fucking guilty! Because when I saw them holding you down, I would rather have that been me in your place. Because fuck—fuck my life, I don't know why! I fucking hate you...so much."

I let myself crouch on the floor at the end of my speech, covering my face in anger. I was panting uncontrollably and I was pretty sure a couple of tears had already escaped my threshold and ran down my face. I knew he had seen and I knew I was a fool for trying to hide them at the moment, miserably on the floor. I blamed it on the medicine, the anxiety attack, stupid Gloss and stupid Cato.

When I stared at him, looking up and letting myself see him as higher than me, stronger, more powerful, I noticed the way he bit his lip in confusion, scared. He was staring at me in complete shock and I had never seen him that lost. He did not have his arrogant front on; he did not have his mocking smirk. He was looking at me through wide blue eyes and I didn't know which one of us was most vulnerable at this point. He was completely unfamiliar with this territory.

I couldn't stand the silent tension any longer and I stood up abruptly, marking the way he flinched back inside his sanctuary, and walked out of the suite, knowing he would not stop me, knowing he would lock himself inside until he figured it out. When the elevator door opened to reveal Glimmer's worried face, I smiled in self-deprecation, my lashes still wet with tears. How had she known to wake up? She looked dejected whispering 'oh, baby' and I imagined I must have looked worse than I thought.

"I think that went well," I murmured sarcastically, close to breaking down for the third time that day.

She grabbed my hand and led me to the couch, where I placed my head on her lap as she stroked my hair like she used to do when we dated. She didn't make me talk; I blurted my frustration out by myself. I told her about how he would murder me. I told her about my dreams. I didn't know that night if she understood. She wasn't the best at figuring things out but she took care of the people close to her. She took care of me when I needed it the most.

I promised myself as I drifted off to sleep in Glimmer's bed with her snuggled innocently by my side that the tears I shed that night would be the last ones coming from my eyes from now until the day they closed forever.

* * *

Entering the arena the next day went better than I expected. Most of my wounds had gotten significantly better over night, seeing as the Capitol had not wanted to handicap the crowd favorite and the most loyal District it had. I had not believed I would be able to train at all the next few days but walking around the room without a headache had increased my hopes. I had managed to keep my food down and Glimmer had convinced me of facing my decision early by going down to the training area. I had placed the huge Band-Aid on my bruised nose, staring at the impressive packages of meds littering my bedside tables. I knew it wasn't fair to the other tributes but I couldn't really complain if I was the privileged one. I couldn't reject it if it meant I would live, come back to this very room to maybe train others. If it meant less limping and more opportunities to hone my skills, I would take it without thinking twice.

I knew we hadn't received our punishment yet though, and I worried constantly, especially during the night, because the Capitol had cruel methods of enforcing rules. I would know from experience. I would shudder, thinking back to the days they had complete control over my body. I never wanted to go back to those rooms and I panicked, thinking Cato would be with me, not because he intimidated my already scared self but because he would have to experience those horrors too. I didn't know how he would handle it so close to the date of our launching into one of our deaths.

Glimmer seemed restored that morning as well, having slept cuddled in my arms, and she was smiling on the way down to the training room, talking about how she needed to crank out some serious exercise before the actual Games. I agreed with her silently, nodding my head and giving her half-hearted smiles. I worried about her because she wasn't skilled in any specific weapons and I did not want her injured. At the same time I did not want to have to jump in front of her in the arena because nobody would pick me up there. Once you bled, you bled to your death.

As we entered the room, holding sweaty hands, silence reigned, weapons dropping, and more than a couple of curious eyes turned towards us, trying to simultaneously satisfy their gossip as well as analyze for weaknesses. I saw them point at the scar on my cheek and I glared at anyone who caught my furious eyes, which scared some of the younger tributes into surrender as they strolled away, looking backwards frequently.

The bigger ones, the ones who smirked and nodded in my direction, weren't so easily frightened by my big ego and from the stares of the huge District 11 tribute, hulking silently in the corner, I could see how I had placed a big target on my back. For one second, I thought about asking the Gamekeepers for a replayed video of our fight. I wanted to see how much they had seen. We stepped forward, Glimmer obliviously rambling on and I saw Thresh and a couple of other boys, grinning like Cheshire cats, eyeing Glimmer and me with perverted determination.

I knew that was the time to look strong so I stared back at their cruel faces with the same confidence I showed during the first day, not fazed by their attitudes. I would keep my front up even when I knew it was a bluff. I spotted Clove and Cato at the weapons station they had made their home and it seemed like they were both purposely avoiding our general direction. His blue eyes had not turned once my way even though some of the tributes were chanting my name repeatedly in an annoying fashion that had me growling. I knew by the way they were urging me on that they wanted me to fight again, realizing that I would be weak in that state. I hated them.

I sighed, shrinking inwardly, when I noticed there would be no way to join the other Careers at the desired station. My spear was far from my reach and without the comfort of my sole weapon, my mouth automatically gulped. We had lost our partners and, though I knew that Glimmer and I were still tough to beat, I sort of wished now in retrospect that so much of our training and strategizing did not automatically assume we were going to form an alliance. If I couldn't fix the mess I had created with one swish of the magic wand, we would be left with a poor back up plan that would not be in-depth enough to get us past the initial blood bath. The blood bath…

That moment, staring at Cato's bulging biceps as he swung his sharp sword at the dummies, unaffected by the drugs and injuries, I had a vision of the moment after the gong had announced the beginning of the Games. I imagined Cato, warrior-like with eyes of a panther, equipped with his sword, fighting off anyone that even bothered to try and get items from the Cornucopia. Normally, I had imagined myself right there by his side, protecting _our_ trophy but now I was predicting either a confrontation that would have to end in one of our deaths or a sprint to the forest, which would end in me stranded in the wilderness, no food, no warmth, no protection. Maybe survival skills today were not such a bad idea.

On that morbid thought, I headed towards the fire-building station with Glimmer right on my heels, not having stopped once with her conversation, unperturbed by my lack of responses. I didn't know if she had realized the gravity of the scenario unfolding.

The station was awfully boring, the music in the background, making me itch my sensitive ears off, and it seemed that anybody with common sense could make magic happen with a few sticks. I wanted to leave for another station but I had sat on the floor cross-legged and I was starting to feel comfortably sleepy. I couldn't urge myself to get up, my eyelids heavy and my eyes lazily staring at the pyramid of wooden sticks I had built. Glimmer, who wasn't as lucky with her two sticks, was repeatedly glancing behind us towards the other four Careers practicing on the dummies, screaming and laughing along. Every time she looked back at her unlit fire, her eyes dropped in desperation and her lips pursued. I knew I had to bring her out of her trance. I sighed her name, bringing her attention back to me, her blue eyes intrigued by my sudden will to talk.

"You could go, you know?" I suggested lightly through whispers, continuing to work on my fire, pretending that I was struggling as much as she. I knew exactly what I was doing wrong but having her happy meant more.

"Marv?" She questioned me with a small voice, confused and I looked up at her, smiling plastically, hoping she couldn't see how much it actually hurt to hold that fake smile, plastered on my bruised face. My hand moved to fidget with her long blonde curls, not up into braids.

"He is mad at me, Glim. I am sure he wont mind you joining them," I elaborated my thoughts, knowing she needed more than just a push to leave me stranded on my own. I hated myself for sulking at my statement because I wanted her to leave but at the same time, I wished I could go with.

"I am not going to leave you—" She started saying, her brows furrowed in anger, and I kept my smile, gritting my teeth through the pain, placing a hand on her lips to silence her. I lost my attention at the scratches on the finger before her moving lips brought it back.

"No, of course not, Glim. It's just…better this way. You'll get more practice and who knows maybe it will help our situation. If you charmed him a little, huh?" I urged her, chuckling bitterly and shrugging my shoulders. She smiled once, lowering her eyes and blushing slightly. I could tell she had some sort of feelings for Cato and though, I couldn't understand her reasoning, I respected her for staying by my side during our confrontation. I loved her for choosing me over her needs. The part of me that felt annoyed about their possible relationship would have to shut up because I had already broken up with her a while ago and I couldn't possibly want anything to do with him on that level. There was no reason to be jealous.

"I screwed up my chance voluntarily. You should not throw away yours," I murmured finally, trying to not sound sour. I really did want her to succeed.

"You know I will still be with you until the very end in there, right?" She whispered back, clutching my hand and I hesitated to tell her the grip hurt. The only thing Glimmer seemed good at was her emotions, also known as my ultimate weakness and probable cause of death. I hoped that some of her skill could rub off on me. I noticed that nobody else appreciated that skill of hers so she was always underestimated.

"I know, Glim. I wouldn't have it any other way," I kissed the top of her head lightly brushing my lips against her creasing forehead, and then urged her to go, motioning behind her with my head. I noticed in mild confusion that the Careers were staring at us momentarily and when I got enough courage to stare at Cato's eyes, he snapped them the other way, brutally beheading one of the poor, wooden dummies before huffily moving out of my range of sight, Clove following behind him worriedly. If I had any doubts about not being able to join, they had disappeared now. Glimmer had missed the action, turning around in time to see them move, and I was glad because I didn't want her to be intimidated. I liked her bubbly self.

She nodded once more, standing up gracefully and walking away from my collapsed frame, still laying on the floor apathetically. I followed her with my eyes to make sure she would not get into any trouble because the other tributes had noticed our separation as well, looking at me in slight pity.

When she reached the new location of the group, I saw them fidget with the decision, yelling over each other and motioning wildly. I bit my lip, craning my neck and crossing my fingers as Cato looked back at me in disapproval, his eyes glaring holes in my general direction. I pleaded with my green ones, mouthing 'please' to him. I didn't know if he understood despite the significant distance separating us but he gave me an unreadable look before, looking back to the group and accepting her I assumed because they moved towards the other station. I sighed in relief when Glimmer smiled back at me, giving me a thumbs-up. Going back to my forgotten fire, I threw the wood on the ground in annoyance, glimpsing up one last time to be met with Clove's worried and questioning brown eyes. I smiled at her, shrugging, and she had to look away to avoid our interaction being spotted by Cato, who looked back at the same time I stared at my feet.

* * *

I admit it got lonely very quickly after a while, going around and solving multiple rounds of survival challenges. Sometimes, the presence of another tribute would be there with me but they were so afraid to speak a word that at times I forgot they were even existent. I had accidentally rammed into the little boy from District 3, knocking him backwards with my aching body. I had cursed in pain before apologizing but his eyes showed nothing but terror as he scrambled away. It was as if I was the villain. I was going to break their necks and feel their eyes to the jabberjays. I found it amusing when they distanced from every station I chose to step out of my way.

I had yet to cross paths with the Careers and had conditioned myself to stop looking in their direction after suffering mild depression attacks when checking out if Glimmer was okay. My spear remained glinting in the neon lights, calling for me, but Cato was always standing too close to it for my liking. I sulked and brooded and cursed but I didn't move. So, after a few moments of torturing a poor, benign leaf beyond recognition, I decided that they were not there in my mind. It was just I, Marvel, party of one, one-man team. I was certain I was going to die a slow and painful death involving multiple sharp objects.

Eventually, after staring at the shimmer, metallic bow for the past twenty minutes, I decided to give it a try. It was clear I would not get any practice with my spear and I wanted to have a second weapon in my belt in case the same complications happened in the arena. I noticed Glimmer had picked it up quite quickly, and thought she still couldn't hit the inside of the target, I assumed it was easier to maneuver than some other weapons.

I assumed wrong, struggling with the bow and finally managing to hit the board, close to its feet, after many failed attempts at which the arrow would drop on my shoes without me even noticing it was missing. I got frustrated the first ten times, cursing and clutching the mocking wood around my hand. I broke quite a few, warranting dirty looks from the woman in charge. I just laughed hysterically at myself the next ten because I had given up hope and the more I scrambled forward the pick up the few arrows left untouched so I could try again, the more out of breath my laughs got. Other tributes thought I had lost my mind and the area around me had cleared up in fear of being hit by my no-so-friendly fire.

"Try holding it the other way around," I heard a voice mutter sarcastically behind me and I startled badly, having lowered my guard, before I faced the girl on fire with icy eyes. Her lips were pursued and her hands stiff on her waist as she stared at me in her condescending way. On any other day, I would have told her off, screamed insults about her failure of a District, but that lonely day I merely shrugged at her stare, grinning cheekily, and arranging the bow as she suggested.

"What now?" I asked simply, staying put with my hands down, while she looked back once to decide if she wanted to be seen with me. She bit her lip, staring at her blonde partner, painting himself, before she looked back at my emerald eyes, inching forward and extending her hand impatiently with a sigh. I handed her the bow, stepping aside as her presence took my place in front of the board. I could feel Clove and Cato's heated glare on my back and instead of deigning them with a response, I bit my lip against it, my eyes never leaving her braided, chestnut hair. "Show me."

"Like this," She whispered lightly, stretching the bow in a perfect, taut pose and taking a few seconds before letting the arrow penetrate the area, breaking through it to stick at the middle of the board, inside the red circle. My mouth fell open and I huffed out a 'whoa' as her eyes looked at the ground instead of my impressed ones. One of my hands went through my hair in realization that she was way more than just a pretty face with a costume that could catch on fire. She was an actual contender and I had to be careful.

"I'm guessing it took a long time for you to be able to do that," I muttered dejectedly, the hand slipping from my hair to the back of my neck, massaging the tension away. The stares on my back were getting closer and I surprised myself at the skill I had for deducing when people were looking at me. It came from living in the Capitol where people were always looking at you. Nothing was hidden.

"My entire life. Why the sudden interest? Where's your spear, caveboy?" She muttered and I actually chuckled sincerely, caught off guard by her lighter attitude. She ignored my surprised face, aiming again and the second time, nailing the silhouette in the brain.

"I thought another skill wouldn't hurt. Besides, how different can long-range weapons be, anyway?" I shrugged as she passed the bow to me and I tried to imitate her, frequently looking at her eyes to see if she approved. She shook her head in annoyance at first before giving up and moving to physically change my position, slapping my hand lower on the bow and arranging my body accordingly. That time when I let the arrow fly it soared much like hers, hitting the middle only a short distance from her first one. I gawked, barely able to contain my satisfaction as her eyebrows soared to her hairline her lips pursing in that way the said 'not bad'.

I gave the bow back, stepping a few steps towards the room and stretching in glory. The bounce in my step was brought back and I was about to continue celebrating when I felt someone ram into me so hard that I found myself on the floor, my hand clutching my ribs, my eyes fuming in anger until met by his cold, blue ones. I stopped the snarl that built up in my mouth as I saw them move towards the other end of the area, Clove by his side, yanking on his sleeve, and Glimmer closer to me, looking worriedly at the way my fingers were shaking against my torso in pain. His eyes were not satisfied, they were enraged and I was about to throw my hands in the air at my frustration. What had I done then? I had been so out of his way that I couldn't possibly have deserved his violent nudge.

I sat on the floor, my lips pursed, looking at him in painful confusion, when he turned around, not giving my eyes any chance and ordering everyone to keep moving, dragging Clove along with him by the hold she had on his shirt. The two District 4 tributes, hurried behind him, the blond, curly-haired boy whispering 'sorry'. I felt Glimmer hesitate, moving a few steps towards me, her hands on her mouth and I shook my head 'no' at the same time that Cato's bellowing, demanding voice boomed in the air.

"Glimmer, are you _coming_ or staying?" He questioned, not turning around, and I felt Glimmer look down in shame before I stood up in agony and physically pushed her towards him. She stumbled, whimpering my name, before following and once again I was left on my own, my hands, dropping from my torso to shake by my sides at my uselessness. I had forgotten she was there and I flinched again at her clear voice.

"You're bleeding," She stated plainly, pointing towards my shirt with a blank look on her face, and only after I gently raised the spandex over my skin did I notice the red blob forming fast under the soiled bandages, spreading and dripping down my tense stomach. I looked away quickly, opting for staring at the ceiling and taking deep breaths. I cursed under my breath, lowering the shirt back and inching towards the bathroom. I needed water—I needed to splash my face immediately or I would be in big trouble.

* * *

Because even I saw myself as an easy target, it was no surprise that others discovered that too especially after my bloody hands struggled with the bathroom handle, entering the white, poorly lit area. I hurried for the sink, grabbing a bunch of paper towels and wiping blindly at my burning chest. I knew I needed to get it checked but I had to regain my composure at first, the panick was slowly settling in.

I heard the door open and several footsteps walked in, the noise echoing through the walls and making my skin shiver. I had no time to look up at the mirror to stare at them because my body flew back as Thresh roughly pushed me to a wall—ahh that was his name. I didn't flinch at the impact but I did grunt, gasping for breath. Two other random, unimportant tributes were by his sides, one leaning on the wall next to me and one with his hands on his waist, glaring cruelly. I could see they were here to stay and I felt my adrenaline surge through my veins, collecting at my bleeding chest. The thought of joining their pack ran through my mind briefly before his angry glare shooed it away permanently.

When he reached for my shirt, attempting to raise it, I slapped his arm away in anger and pushed him back into the other boy, panting at the effort. I could feel the blood staining the top of my pants but I was not going to be cornered by some weaklings. I still had fight in me and I still had the possibility because I hadn't passed out just yet. I was everyone's favorite and I had not suffered all my life to be dragged like a rag doll by an overgrown ape who took advantage of people's weaknesses. He was a coward.

"I thought you might be getting lonely in here so we came to join," Thresh stated in a mocking baby voice and I glared at them, preparing myself for another fight, clenching my fists and flexing my chest, my stomach tensing against the slippery, warm liquid. My body groaned against the strain but it seemed as if it had no say in the matter. I had thought Thresh was the quiet guy that would not get involved, not form alliances and not make an appearance to early. Underestimating him had placed me in this position and I vowed to never do it again, cornered against the cold tiles.

"You do realize that sounds a little gay, this being a bathroom and all. I didn't know you liked me like that, Thresh. Aww. Do stay," I snapped back in teasing, holding my stance and smirking at them when their faces flushed, Thresh's jaw clenching at my tone.

He stepped forward, angrily stomping towards me and pushing me up against the wall, gripping my shirt so hard I heard the center rip. That would be the second training outfit I ruined. I saw his hands become red as his eyes glinted sadistically. My back protested against the impact, as I hissed in pain, gasping for much needed air. Why did everyone seem to like picking me up? I was too cute for my own good. I did not struggle against him but I did sneer, not allowing him the satisfaction of seeing me in pain for too long. I bit the inside of my cheek as I felt my boxers stick against my skin uncomfortably by the blood.

"You know there are penalties when…the lesser districts break the rules," I muttered through my teeth, smirking at him when he caught on to my insult with some delay. He had been pretty quiet, most likely analyzing his next move. The blood was making him hesitate and I knew if my enemy thought it was bad, it must have been worse than I thought. I could see the two other boys looking around worriedly in case the gamekeepers noticed our interactions. Their eyes pleaded for Thresh to stop but he shook them off, pushing one into the sink.

He pulled me forward once again, my head slamming on his shoulder, only to ram me back against the wall and that time my back and my front stung simultaneously, my ribs squeaking in complaint. I coughed harshly and my mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. I desperately wanted to expel it because it was making me puke. It seemed that my lungs had not healed as much as I would've wanted them too. My inside was still fragile thought they had doped me in meds of different sorts. He was glaring at me with wild eyes, like an animal and I made sure to spit the blood in his face, smiling back innocently, pouting my lips. The substance ran down his forehead disgustingly thick and I cringed as his eyes widened in shock. At the realization that he had been contaminated, he flinched, roaring in anger but dropping me momentarily on the ground to wipe my remains of his face. I stumbled, holding my stomach, protecting it against harm with shaking, bloody hands.

"Now I will kill you, you little fucker," he roared about to hurt me again, inching forward with a raised first as I stayed put, gulping. After a while, the prospect of pain did not scare me any longer.

I closed my eyes tightly, bracing for the painful impact but footsteps were heard right next to us, the door slamming against the inside wall open and I sighed in relief, assuming the peacekeepers had decided to spare me some agony. My head leant against the wall as the breath I had been holding in escaped. They had saved me.

When I did open my green eyes to try and understand why there was nothing but silence, it was Cato standing next to me, his lips snarled in rage and his eyes dark blue, storming, glaring at the backing away Thresh who seemed as dumbfounded by the other's presence as I was. My mouth fell open and I felt myself cringe further back when he stepped closer to me, reaching for my hand. I thought I saw the hurt flash through his eyes before he looked back at the others, ignoring my reaction.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Cato asked coldly, snapping at the two who were next to the sinks, shaking their heads, and his tone left no room for argument. His back was no towards me and I stared in fascination at the contours that formed on the tight shirt. I focused on the number 2 on his back and I reminded myself of Gloss' words. He was my ally. I wanted him to be my ally.

After moments of showdown between the two biggest tributes, the two other ones ran away, slamming the door behind them, not wanting to be caught in another fight as Thresh looked back and forth between my surprised face to Cato's disapproving one, trying to decide if it was worth making a move on me now. I shrugged, unable to keep a straight face at how pathetic Thresh looked. I hoped that had not been my expression yesterday against Cato.

He inched forward unperturbed, grabbing me by my shirt as I pulled back violently running into the wall behind me and whimpering in pain. I heard the growl that escaped Cato's throat, followed by the muttered 'son of a bitch'. He moved between us without hesitation, grabbing his wrist in a deathly grasp that had his fingers turning blue and twisting it painfully. His other hand moved towards me again, pulling me much more gently, behind his beck and standing in front of me protectively.

"Touch him again, I dare you," I heard Cato hiss aggressively, pushing Thresh back against the other side and glaring at the way his smirk only grew. I could only see his feral face from my position, the rest of him being covered by Cato's wall of defense.

"Oh, I wont have to. With how much you've fucked him up, he'll be lucky to live long enough to enter the arena," Thresh murmured knowingly in a pleasant tone, turning around to face the sinks, slowly washing his hands from my blood and staring at us through the mirror. I looked at the reflective surface to see the look of devastation that settled in Cato's eyes as he bit his lip, looking down from the way Thresh kept smiling at my pain. I felt him shake in anger and as much as I wanted to reach out to touch the sweaty back of his shirt, I pulled my hands to my chest in fear of another rejection.

"See you around, _Careers_," Thresh teased with his dry voice, walking outside in a lazy pace, and I heard the door slam again before I let myself fall, sliding down the wall and touching the floor with my wet pants, staining it. I felt him snap back to look at me in concern and before I could think of what to say, his blue eyes were showering me with attention, kneeling right in front of my blurry ones.

"Thanks…for that," I rasped out, coughing and feeling the blood run down my lips again. I saw him shake his head, his hands reaching for my middle area and I hissed, holding on to the wound tighter to prevent him from touching it. I wanted to be left alone. I was in too much pain to handle his regretful eyes and his shaking, scarred lips.

"Don't mention it. He won't hurt you again, okay? I'll kill him if he does. You just have to let me know. Don't hang out on your own anymore—I don't like tha—it's not safe! Come with us," He rambled on, pulling my hands away from my stomach after a small struggle, which I was too exhausted to win. His voice broke when he saw the puddle running my shirt and he hurried to look at me again, pathetically trying to get me to say something. I wanted to make him happy; I just didn't know what he wanted to hear. I felt drowsy, sleepy.

"I thought…" cough, more blood escaping my mouth, "I thought we weren't partners anymore," I muttered through the pain, squinting my eyes tight against the banging headache. He hissed, whispering in denial. "Is this light too bright for you? Turn that off, please."

I felt him fidget in a confused way, looing around for the switch, before he moved to cover us in darkness and I sighed in relief, thanking him again. Now I couldn't see his face and he couldn't see mine. Now we could both hide; we didn't have to struggle to compose our faces. I knew we both appreciated the setting and I felt him move to sit beside me, one of his hands never leaving my stomach where he was applying pressure to the wound without my realization. I had gotten used to his warm hand and my eyes drooped heavily, my head spinning as he kept talking to me, his words jumbled and his voice insecure.

"I don't always mean what I say when I'm mad. And you make me so _angry_ all the time because you're annoying and bratty and have this stupid smile on your face. I have a constant desire to punch you because you purposely confuse me and then you make fun of me for being confused—" He vented in an annoyed tone, slamming his hand against the trashcan sitting next to him, causing it to fall on the ground with a crash, and before I had realized what was happening, I had whispered again, collapsing against his frame in a black, familiar haze:

"I'm sorry, Cato."

I could feel him shaking me, screaming for me to wake up, but I was too tired and I loved the way the cold tiles where I was lying felt against my burning face. I knew I needed Gloss. I just hoped Cato knew that too because by the sound of his panicked voice against my scarred cheek, I wasn't so sure he could think straight at the moment.

We would see.


	4. Mammon's Avaritia Part I

**Chapter 4 – Mammon's Avaritia**

**Part I/II**

Cato's POV

"Try not to cream your pants now, little fag," I muttered to him in amusement, chuckling at my own comment and the way he shivered from my breath fanning his ear. When he looked back at me with an annoyed look, I gave him a pretend smitten look, flapping my eyelashes like I had seen Glimmer do countless times when she spoke to me. I knew she was getting too clingy but I didn't mind because usually when she was around, her District partner was around and he was always entertaining. He wasn't getting as riled up about my comments anymore which wasn't as fun.

Ever since that heart-stopping encounter at the bathroom, my comments no longer affected him. He now let them slide down his back, shrugging, unimpressed, or muttering 'dick' under his breath. I thought his calm attitude was due to Gloss because that day when he barged in the bathroom to find me shaking him in angry shock, he had picked him up, muttering without looking at my eyes: "You've already proved yourself enough."

The older blond wasn't happy at our relationship and though at the time I had snapped my mouth shut and nodded, agreeing to the truce, standing with him the next day when he was fine and dandy had lit that burning fire inside me once again. I couldn't help but tease him, go after him when he was hiding in his shell. I couldn't help the relief that escaped my throat as I sighed his name when he walked towards us the next day, awake and smiling faintly.

I tried to convince myself it was because I couldn't begin to think of what the Capitol would do to me had I killed him before they had a chance to. I was frightened of their power and I could tell Marvel was terrorized by it with the way he looked down every time Seneca commented on his performance, clapping behind him with twisted pride. There was something strange about those two in the way Marvel kept running up to him with questions and in the way the older man stared down at him almost flirtatiously, offering him advice. I knew it was unfair and I knew Marvel knew more about the arena than he should have.

Clove was right about me when she found me with my head on my knees that day after I had trained myself half to death, the rest of the tributes exiting one by one, staring at me like I was a monster, loving the urge that violence gave me. They didn't understand that watching that gashes open in the cotton dummies was the only thing keeping me sane, keeping me from following Glimmer up the stairs when she screeched after Gloss who cradled Marvel's passed out form. She was right in saying I felt overcome by guilt and she was right in believing I didn't know how to deal with it sending tremors down my body. I hadn't slept that night. I had stayed up, sitting in the dark living room like a zombie, watching videos of the past victors as they brutally slay their comrades to win. Forcing myself not to blink or flinch, the loop continued until Brutus rolled in when the sun rose with a robe and a cup of hot coffee, muttering 'Jesus Christ, Cato' in fright at my saggy eyes and my shivering skin. He had taken me aside that day as Clove went downstairs with a concerned look, and told me that the 'curly-haired fool' was fine and counting on me not to screw up my chances of survival by demolishing my own body. I had pretended to not understand, getting dressed against his advice and heading down where seeing him physically there had shattered every doubt.

Standing beside him in the training room as he ogled the District 12 boy had irritated me slightly so I loved his startled, blushing look when he heard my sexual comment. His face fell from his impressed one into his usual frown and he sighed heavily, biting his lip to restrain himself from snapping back at my comment. I could see that the nickname stung but I refused to analyze it.

It wasn't my fault both him and Glimmer physically stepped back, her stepping on my foot and him falling on my chest, when that District 12 kid had merely thrown a ball of weight a couple of feet away, slamming it into the weapon holder. I could perform much more impressive techniques than that. Where would he possibly use that skill? Nobody knew, but the two pussies I had been doomed to work with seemed to have a different opinion, both giving him much more attention than he was deserving of.

I wasn't necessarily jealous; I was just annoyed at them encouraging him to feel better about himself. We were supposed to intimidate the other tributes, not shower them with compliments. I growled menacingly, yanking Marvel back by his shirt a few feet, when the blond 12 gave a slight, confident smile at the curly haired comrades, airhead Glimmer, returning it faintly, and gayboy Marvel, smirking back at him, nodding in compliment. I thought he would be mad when our eyes made contact, his third shirt whining in protest, but he merely stared at me innocently.

"Aw, poor Cato is not getting all the attention he needs," Marvel babbled in a baby voice, pouting intensely, shaking his head in pretense pity. That was why I liked that boy. He was always up for a challenge even when he knew I would always, _always _be above him. He never denied me a chance to release some pent-up frustration. He was like my personal punch-baggy, flinging back with every hit only to swing towards my direction again.

I was more frustrated with the other kid but in this opportune moment, I realized I could kill two birds with one stone: put Marvel back in his usual, submissive place and simultaneously deter the District 12 boy from thinking he could ever be part of us.

As I approached him slowly, smirking at my cruel plans, he remained aloof, hands still crossed on his chest, his head cocked side-ways. I analyzed the smooth stretch of his neck in concentration, making him fidget, the flush rising up his V-neck to his ears. He was looking at me in partial interest but most of him was too apathetic for my liking. It was as if he wasn't scared of me anymore. He was treating me like a little child he had to put up with for the sake of his life and that of his partner. I didn't really like that dismissive attitude and when I was against something, it stopped.

Approaching his small frame, I was so close to him that I could feel his need to pull back so he didn't have me towering over him menacingly but he stayed put like a good boy and I was relieved I didn't have to restrain him for the ritual. It would look weird and it would hurt him more. I wasn't sure if I wanted to try that again, at least not until we reached that arena, not until we were the last two standing, eyeing each other warily, not until I had to break his skull open with a brick.

His entire body had stiffened but he had not shifted from his original position. My eyes flickered momentarily to the stunned District 12 boy who was trying to sneakily steal glances, looking at us in interest. His hands had stopped working on the knot he was trying to form and I bet that knot had now transferred to his throat.

Glimmer was giving me a concerned look, her blue eyes begging for me to stop, and from her slowly shaking head, I knew she knew. I knew she wanted to protect him and that made my blood boil. I couldn't let her get in the way, drag him towards her graceful body and into her accepting arms. I gave her my most heated glare, mouthing 'leave, now', and I saw her waver, shaking her head. I pleaded in my mind for her not to be a burden for once in her life. My hand moved to the small of his back and both District 1 tributes flinched, him stepping back until the grasp on my shirt stopped him and her stepping away with subdued eyes. She seemed torn, shifting her attention towards the other booths and back to Marvel's back, before my anger forced her away, stumbling on her feet towards the District 4 runts.

Going back to the task at hand, I slowly lowered my lips on the thin, soft skin of his neck. He flinched but not hard enough. He whimpered but not loud enough, making me think that he was expecting it. I wondered why he wasn't making a move to stop me. I wondered if he had actually given up, my heart panging against the thought. He seemed awfully out of character but I wasn't going to complain since it was ultimately benefiting me. My desire to conquer overcame my festering guilt.

As I moved bite his skin harshly, sucking the blood vigorously from his vulnerable body, he hissed my name in pain, muttering for me to 'stop', but did nothing to halt my actions by himself. On the contrary, realizing I wasn't going to give up as my tongue traced patterns on his skin, he bared his neck further, allowing me more room to work with. When his eyes faced the floor in loss, I was in shock because he was being too submissive and a part of me found it extremely enticing, driving me further, while another part found it odd and unsettling.

It took a moment for me to realize that he did not have the slightest idea of the consequences behind my actions and I smiled against his skin, feeling his pulse tremble next to my lips. My plan had gone much more fluidly than I had previously thought. I couldn't believe my luck. I wondered if he was indulging me for the sake of getting me off his back. That was the punishment he deserved for not trying to fight back, for not trying to protect his dignity. He would get a big revelation at some point today. I was just hoping that Glimmer or Clove would not spoil the fun too early.

Pulling away slowly, I stared at him, smirking ferociously, while he rolled his green eyes, not having moved an inch after my entire routine. From the corner of my eye, I noticed the District 12 boy, staring at us in bewilderment, frozen in spot. I couldn't tell if he knew what had just happened but I highly doubted it at the beginning. His hand moved automatically towards his own neck and I saw him look down, mouthing 'fuck'. I didn't think the legacy of the mark had spread that far but seeing him shudder convinced me he knew what that little bruise on Marvel's neck meant. They were more primitive than I thought. On the other hand, my poor, oblivious Marvel had absolutely no idea just how much damage I had done.

"Are you done molesting me just yet, _faggot_?" He muttered awfully calmly for someone who was supposedly just molested. I complimented him on bringing back the insult though. I had not expected that or the anger that I felt having heard it. I didn't get angry at him however because I had won. I had to work hard to contain the grin that was threatening to split my face.

"Oh, yea. Turned on?" I nodded excitedly, looking at him in amusement. When I teased him, my tongue brushed my upper lip crudely. He was blushing faintly, the red increasing at my comment, but not enough to be openly noticed. He still had some control and I was surprised at that.

"Straining against my briefs as we speak…" He drawled back, rolling his eyes with a sigh, and I barked a chuckle while he smiled faintly. He could really give it back no problem. He was the only one I had met in my life that could keep up with me. It was thrilling to be around.

I could see the circular mark I had made on the side of his neck, near his left clavicle at the junction where the his neck and his shoulder bone met. It didn't look as perfect as some other ones I had seen but it was accurate enough to be recognized. I had heard it was extremely hard to be able to perform the mark correctly and felt a shimmer of pride at my work. The hickey was raw, brightly standing out from his tan skin. I must have sucked a little harder than I thought, guess I was over-excited. That was the first time I had given one and it would not be the last.

"Go wank off then," I blurted, winking and turning my back on his exasperated face. If Clove had been there she would have said I was flirting with him and then I would have to kill her so I thanked God she hadn't witnessed my little loss of rationale. I wasn't flirting. I was teasing with the intention of hurting. It was simply too different to be compared. Once I had convinced myself that I was perfectly on the right, I turned around one more time, raising my shirt and flexing my abs in his direction in one of those poses I had seen in filthy magazines.

He smirked at me, pushing his tongue against his cheek in crude representation of oral stimulation. It was my turn to pause in shock and I thought I heard him giggle as I turned around, whispering under my breath in a ragged tone:

"Fucking Jezebel."

* * *

My hands were starting to get sweaty as my body prepared for the display. I felt the back of my shirt stick to my muscles. We were all sitting side by side on a long, metal bench, waiting to be called. It felt like judgment day and my confidence, ridiculously overinflated, still didn't manage to calm me down. That was the last chance to show the gamekeepers what we were made of, how hungry we were for the win. That was the last chance to bring fourth our strongest skill and hope for their approval. I knew I would do fine, probably get the highest score, but my nerves were still jumping around and my stomach felt queasy. You never knew what they expected to see.

I just didn't want to disappoint my mentor and my sponsors. Brutus had whispered 'crush them', pushing me in roughly when I hesitated at the door. I had seen Gloss advising Marvel, his hand holding the younger's face up sternly, his fingers through his hair as the curly-haired boy nodded, biting his lip. The Careers always got high-scores so there were certain expectations set that choked us up, made us underperform. We all knew, though our mentors never mentioned, that there was a difference between a high score and _the_ highest score.

Marvel was sitting next to me, wringing his hands and tapping his leg furiously on the floor, visually as nervous as I. He had made several shy attempts to inch closer to me, which I had seen fail through disappointed eyes. His eyes kept going to the door where I assumed Gloss was waiting for them, his arms crossed against his white, chic button down. I didn't like the older blond because I hated the way Marvel's eyes lit up when he appeared. He seemed lost without him, wiping his sweat with the back of his hand. He was up next because Glimmer had already gone in, skipping to the door and blowing Marvel a kiss, which he didn't return. I could see his eyes were glazed over most likely because he was deep in thought, trying to plan his approach.

He had not acknowledged my presence since he came in and he had not made an attempt to hide the red hickey on his neck so I assumed nobody had told him yet. I wondered why because I doubted he would explode at any of his team. I thought he loved both his bimbo blonde _girlfriend_ and his blond Casanova mentor. He wouldn't hurt them like he wanted to hurt me.

My eyes lingered on his neck a while longer, the acidic taste on my mouth that I identified as jealousy, fading away when I noticed the way he hissed every time he accidently ran his fingers on it, rubbing his neck in dread. It looked good on him; it looked especially good, knowing I had made it. It drew attention to his long, tan neck.

He noticed me staring, his green orbs shifting to the corner of his eye as he looked towards my evading eyes. They dropped on the floor and I smiled to myself when I felt him edge towards me successfully, leaning on his knees, glancing sideways again to meet my eyes. I wanted to ease the tension so I decided that conversation would not be a bad idea. Besides, I did not like to be ignored.

"Hey, you wanna place a bet?" I muttered low enough for our conversation to be private though I knew with the way Clove perked up smirking to herself that she was in our hearing range, enjoying my pain. I nudged her leg away, signaling that I was on to her to which she giggled. Rolling my eyes, I inched a little closer to him, closing the gap between our thighs with the sole reason of moving away from the evil pixie. He didn't move away but he trembled slightly, his quadriceps tensing against his will. He didn't seem to mind the contact but he didn't turn around again. I thought I saw his cheeks flare but it was probably the intense light above us. He did not seem to have heard me at first but after a few moments of silence that were starting to aggravate me, his head inched sideways in questioning, the mark bold against his neck, taunting my lips.

"What about?" He eventually whispered back and though his tone seemed fatigued, I knew he was trying to keep the excitement from lacing with his words. His shoulders slumped a little and I could almost feel the stiffness of his muscles melt away and the tension start to evaporate from of his body.

We had not faced each other yet, opting for sitting casually and trying to not attract attention. As of right now, everyone but Glimmer was in the room and though most of them were too busy praying for their fates, some could be listening in. I didn't want our interactions to be monitored though I usually fed off attention. Everything was weird when it came to him.

"Who gets a higher score?" I questioned him, feigning apathy, trying to sound as if I had just come up with the idea and had not been turning it over in my head ever since we stepped into the building. I kept trying to imagine what he would show them, what he would do. I kept cringing at the thought of him being there alone with Seneca, which was insanely moronic of me.

He froze again at my statement and I thought I had fucked it up, challenged him too early, but I saw a smirk appear on his face before he rolled his shoulders back slowly and stretched his toned arms above his head. His tight, spandex shirt rode up swiftly, revealing his flat stomach and a light trail of curly hair leading to his black, tight boxers and hiding under the elastic band. My eyes dipped in his weird bellybutton, my tongue wanting desperately to wet my dry mouth. I wondered if the stylist had done that on purpose, 'forgot' to shave him all the way. I wondered what was behind the silk, tight-but I shifted my attention back to his knowing face before I distracted myself any further.

At times like these, I had to condition myself to believe that the kid wasn't trying to crudely flirt with me, lure me in, because it was hard to distinguish between him trying to rile me up, him trying to earn points by being slutty or him plain out trying to get me to slam him against a fucking wall and force his legs around my waist. I blanched at the vivid imagery, jumping away from his touch as if burned. My mouth gaped and his opened as well in a cute snarl, most likely to tease me about my wandering eyes, I interrupted him before he had to chance to utter the first word,

"If you are _not _going to say something in context of the bet, I suggest you keep it to yourself before I amputate your tongue, slut."

My tone left no room for debate and he left was speechless, caught off-guard with a grin on his face, his eyes flicking towards my crotch quickly, making me frown and shove him aside. This time he managed to chuckle once before forcing his features into a straight face at my scowl. Little, slutty bitch with a sexy body and fuck, no, fuck…

"Sure," he drawled, smiling slyly at me, looking at me from the corner of his eye. I wasn't certain which question he was answering and I was pretty sure that he meant for the answer to be ambiguous. He meant to confuse me ever since I stupidly mentioned to him when he was bleeding on that bathroom floor that his words were my weakness. I had to _try_ hard to keep my hands from strangling him. Why must he be so frustrating?

He extended his hand towards me and I took it in my own, making the bet official. His hand was as sweaty as mine but I could see it wasn't twitching so I deduced that he had relaxed. He raised his eyebrows at me, silently asking about what we were betting with.

"Whoever loses…owes the other person a favor?" I murmured, cursing myself for sounding as if I was asking for his permission again. I didn't miss the way his pupils dilated strangely before going back to their normal size. He licked his lips before answering,

"Deal."

His name was called just as we were about to pull apart and he stood up, moving away from me, letting go of my hand. He gave me one last grin before moving towards the door. His hips seemed to sway more as he glided through the door and I practically slapped my palm to my forehead. I was either sex-deprived or this kid was a whore. Well, both actually. I could go for some good sex. As I sat back, groaning in annoyance, I sharply turned around to face an amused Clove, who stared at me knowingly, mouthing 'sexy motherfucker'. I motioned towards him silently unable to contain my astonishment, nodding in agreement.

"Did that just happen? Am I the_ only_ one who thinks he is a slut?" I murmured, causing her to snort and then place a hand on her mouth to silence her laughter.

"You're just _really_ horny. That's all. And he…sorta knows how to play you like a violin," she whispered, chuckling when I smacked her on leg, staring at her in horror not because she mentioned my sexual urges but because she thought he played me. That little, weak fuck controlled me. No, no, no.

I shook my head at her uselessness, shrugging my shoulders in defeat and settling against the bench, the scores long forgotten. I saw him enter the room but not before flipping me the bird, disappearing before leaning his head back again and winking at me. The Gamekeeper dragged him back in with an annoyed 'stop this.'

The door slammed shut and I think I was too incredulous to even get angry at this point.

* * *

I growled possessively, staring down the screen when I saw him go on stage for his interview, confident and dazzling. The crowd roared in enthusiasm, some people getting off their chairs to wave and blow kisses at the District 1 boy, who strolled, smiling his signature smile of stupidity and waving at his fans excitedly. He seemed so comfortable, like he belonged there, and I wondered if that was because of his special training.

The stylist had obviously catered his clothing towards the Capitol's taste because it was very casual and, compared to my serious suit, very colorful. They were trying to maintain his image as the Capitol's golden boy and the closest thing the Capitol would have to a possible victor.

Hence, he was sporting a pair of yellow pants, oh yeah, yellow slacks, that somehow he managed to pull off, wrapped tight around his slim waist by a weaved brown belt. His shirt was V-neck, revealing his tanned chest, and hunter green, tight around his body, especially his arms and tucked into the pants. They had topped the outfit with a sleek, modern, white vest that he wore on top, unbuttoned and, of course, the most important item, a navy blue scarf with a white streak lining the edges.

It _coincidentally _covered my mark and hung very loosely around the front of his neck. The trend obsessed weirdos in the Capitol said there were two reasons to wear scarves: to keep your neck warm and for decoration. That scarf was definitely for the latter one because not only was it silky and light, it was also draped in a specific format that allowed the front of his shirt were the V-neck was situated to remain uncovered while the side of his neck was hidden from the audience's view.

Over all the outfit accentuated his built and made him appear elegant all at the same time. No matter how bad the parade outfit had ended up being, the stylist had been smart the second time around and had somehow managed to flawlessly execute this one without even having to confront Marvel about the significance of the mark. She would not bare the brunt.

Looking down at my boring black and silver suit, I was starting to wish I had not played it this safe but knowing that the Capitol would react differently to me than to him, I knew I had made the right choice. The District 2 boy trying to kiss up to the Capitol sponsors would awe nobody but somehow when the District 1 tribute did it, it was not only accepted but also worshiped.

While I was busy checking myself out in the reflection of the window, trying to assess if I looked sexy enough, Marvel had made himself comfortable on the chair and had started to answer the easy questions. I had to admit, through gritted teeth and a bruised ego, that he was good at interviews. He was a natural with those stupid green eyes that matched well with his shirt and that stupid, stupid smile, he gave to just about everyone like a little whore. Didn't he understand that those pure emotions were special? Didn't he?! It was ridiculous how many people swooned over his chuckles. He was laughing, feeding of the attention and fame. After all he was the District 1 tribute and those were always the crowd favorites, as they would never let us forget.

"Rumor has it you and our fellow tribute, Cato, had a little…_misunderstanding_. Does this mean you will not be counting on an alliance?" Caesar prodded, leaning in seriously and analyzing Marvel's face. The cameras had a close-up of his expressive eyes and I didn't miss the embers of anger lighting up before extinguishing as he smiled lightly. They continued to focus on his stitched up cheek, people awing in pity while he waved them off.

"What gave it away? Was it perhaps…my awesome battle wounds?" Marvel muttered sarcastically, rolling his green eyes as laughter erupted from the crowd. He pointed at his face and raised his shirt to reveal the many bruises, littering his injured chest. I looked away immediately to avoid the haunting sight and Clove placed a hand on my thigh in comfort while I pushed her away. I didn't like when people noticed my moments of weakness. My eyes only jumped up to his again when I heard my name, "Cato and I are fine now, Caesar. We grappled a little too hard but no hard feelings. He's my boy. 'Course I'm counting on an alliance."

He shrugged, grinning and leaning back, and Caesar nodded in understanding, letting go off the topic when he realized he wasn't going to get anything interesting out of it. He liked poking in sensitive spots not because he was cruel but because he knew that information would entice the crowd, get them to commit to the tribute they wanted to support. He wanted the audience to care, fight for their favorites until the end. He watched out for us and a part of me couldn't wait to be up there in the spotlight.

Caesar continued the interview by prompting him to talk about how he was such a "heartbreaker" with the ladies, calling him "charming" and a "pretty boy". He was shamelessly trying to get details on Marvel's romantic life, whether he had a special someone, whether he and Glimmer had a spark, whether he would use sex to his advantage. Marvel blushed at the questions, laughing when the fans screamed 'Marry me' on the top of their lungs, waving posters at him. The topic was making me angry for some reason and a part of my stomach felt weird, waiting for him to reveal his romantic interests. My eyes shifted to Glimmer's blue ones as she smiled and chattered with Gloss both nodding towards the screen. She seemed flattered and I wanted to automatically knock her down. What did those questions have to do with the Games anyway?

"Who do you think is the most good-looking tribute this year?" Caesar asked randomly, winking at the cameras as the people cooed. I saw the incredulous look on Marvel's face matched my furious one as I muttered, 'How is this professional?' Clove chuckled at my pain while Brutus just hmph-ed in amusement, patting my shoulder dismissively. I sulked, waiting for his reply, glaring at the screen as if he could see me.

"Umm, _seriously_, man? Lord—okay, Glimmer perhaps? Oh, no, no! Me. It's me, Caesar. It's _I_?" Marvel rambled in humor, grinning from ear to ear and bowing down at the laughing crowd, "Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all night."

I smirked a little, imagining what would have happened if he had blurted my name. I knew I deserved that title. Blushing and chuckling, the District 1 boy managed to politely evade all the other personal questions, blurting a joke here and there, and avoiding the details that really mattered. I could see the crowd was at the edge of their seats, waiting for any dirty gossip to be spilt.

Smirking, I thought they were about to be let down before Caesar turned the tables, forming a sentence that made the entire crowed go quiet, craning their necks to get a glimpse before exploding in commotion, people whispering to each other, pointing, cooing. I froze on the spot, gulping.

"Oh! My dear boy, is that…an _Alpha_ Mark on your neck? The plot thickens people," His voice was laced with pure curiosity and interest as he inched forward to reveal my work to the entire world, prying the scarf away with his thumb. I was greeted by my work as the cameras zoomed in. I could see Marvel's face was scrunched in confusion, his eyes wandering left and right, but the dread was slowly settling in, replacing the innocent look as the realization sunk in deep, planting that seed of destruction. Oh, dear god—

Back in the room I heard three voices simultaneously scream my name and I shrunk back, covering my eyes with my hand, dragging it down my face, thinking 'Stupid, stupid, stupid'. Why did I get myself into these situations? Was it my fault Caesar had the eyes of a hawk?

Clove was awestruck, caught up between horror and amusement. Brutus was shaking his fist at me in anger, pointing to me and whispering gruffly for me to shut up when a snort escaped me. The murderous look in his eyes was scaring me back into my seat. Gloss, Marvel's good-looking mentor was shaking his head at me in that 'What the fuck' way, opening his mouth and closing it again, pacing around with his hands on his waist. He was at a loss for words, captured hostage by his disbelief. We were causing a scene and all the other tributes were staring at us. Tough luck keeping that a secret for long.

"Glimmer knew," I mumbled as I looked at her horrified face, losing its sweet beauty for a mere second as she glared at me accusingly in anger for the first time. She wasn't expecting me to throw her under the bus but honey it was a dog eat dog world. For my attempts, I earned another deathly glare by my mentor, who strode swiftly across the room to smack me behind the head, threatening me to shut my mouth before he made me regret I was born.

I totally believe Brutus, underneath his layers of seriousness, teamwork and pack loyalty, thought my prank was hilarious. I could tell he was putting up a harsher front because he was in front of all the other mentors, Gloss especially, who looked pissy, pushing his sleeves up and wrinkling his posh jacket. I wanted to smirk back at him but I bit my tongue, looking down when his silver eyes dared me.

"What?" Gloss sputtered, turning to face Glimmer as she stuttered out that the stylist knew as well. We were all just playing pass the blame and I didn't think Gloss particularly enjoyed that game, seeing as he cursed out loud in a weird, Capitol accent. It was funny. I rolled my eyes sarcastically and Clove nudged me hard in the ribs. Needless to say, the collective sense of humor in that room added up to something in the negatives.

Meanwhile, Marvel was struggling to maintain his easygoing attitude as Caser explained the origins of the Mark and the meaning behind it. I saw the way his eyes glistened in hurt and I gulped at the way he casually touched it again, trying to shield himself from the prodding camera. I wanted to push them away from him for a second, a second where I forgot I did that to him, I made him suffer. I could see the sheen of sweat that had started to cover his forehead and I could see him clenching the armrest with his fingers.

"The Alpha Mark was used to signify dominance and possession. It used to be a way to hmm how do I put this? Mark territory while simultaneously trapping the marked into submission," Caser explained gently, noticing his mistake when Marvel's lower lip twitched, as he tried hard to keep the smile on his face. I could see by the way his nose wrinkled that he was furious. I had used a pretty low blow and I watched in interest to see it unfold.

Caesar was leaning towards him now, lightly touching his neck and removing the scarf long enough for the cameras to get a close up of the dark circle with two tails. The crowd gasped again so in sync with the drama, unfolding in front of them on stage. Marvel silently gave him approval to remove the item completely and Caesar grasped the scarf in response, throwing it at the fans who fought each other for a piece of it like a pack of dogs with a chunk of meat.

"Is that so?" Marvel muttered, trying to keep up appearances, allowing Caesar to keep touching the mark without showing discomfort though I could see the slight signs that gave it away. The crowd had gone silent and even the Gamekeepers were looking at the stage in interest.

Caesar hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his chin, "They haven't been around in years. It's quite impressive that people can still imitate the pattern." I knew where he was going with that sentence but I hoped he had the decency to avoid that topic.

Was it bad that I was proud of myself watching Caesar's impressed face and the Gamekeepers sly smiles? Probably, seeing how hard I was making it for Marvel to do well in his interview. What could I say; you won some you lost some.

"Who gave it to you, my boy?" Caesar asked the million-dollar question and I could see every member of the audience perk up. Suddenly my stomach twisted painfully inside me; I felt nauseous. I realized I had no idea if he was going to snitch. I realized I couldn't deal with the consequences. I realized I had been a coward.

His eyes glossed over and his head inched side-ways, as he thought about his decision, "It looks rather fresh; it must have been a tribute! A young man certainly," Caesar exclaimed, stopping my heart and making Marvel flush adorably enough for the crowd to coo.

"Oh, do tell us," Caesar prompted eagerly and there were moans of agreement, screams and aw-s. Gloss and Brutus were looking at the screen in interest before exchanging a glance most likely thinking of how to use the drastic change of events to our advantage.

Marvel looked frozen for a response, about to open his mouth. My hand clutched my slacks, my heart sped up and I bit my lip, awaiting his verdict. The room had gotten silent; it looked as if nobody dared to breathe.

The bell rang signifying the end of the interview and Marvel's face split into a relived grin, his eyes twinkling in amusement. He was such a lucky bastard. A part of me knew that he had accounted for that ending and was stalling for time, knowing that the interviews were so short. A part of me feared the end.

"I guess we're out of time," he stated cheerfully, managing to offer the audience a final wink before stepping up.

The members of the audience protested against it but Caesar reluctantly rose from his chair, leading Marvel to the front and introducing him one last time. I could hear their collective groan of disappointment and I thought to myself I had never heard a better sound. I slumped against my chair in relief with Clove giggling slightly.

* * *

The door opened, the draft fluffing my hair, and Marvel strolled in, no longer beaming, furious, baring his teeth and furrowing his brows. As soon as we made eye contact, my apologetic blues seeking his, he lunged for me growling, and I flinched back, defensive, but Gloss had already restrained him by the arms, wrapping one around his waist and holding his face away from me with his other one.

I saw Marvel elbow him and I was surprised to note Gloss held back the fury behind his eyes, hugging the other closer to his chest, much to my annoyance. Brutus, feeling obliged to act, moved in between us, creating a wall of separation, and I had to look around him because I didn't want to lose sight of the tantrum throwing baby. I could see Marvel struggle, cursing shamelessly for a few moments, before he pushed Gloss back, screaming 'Please, Gloss' in such desperation that even stony Gloss couldn't remain aloof.

"Get off me!" He snarled to make up for his weakness and he was released. He took some time to straighten out his clothing in complete silence, looking around at his team. Glimmer had lowered her head in shame, her nails between her lips, and the stylist had a palm, covering her small mouth, her eyes wide and fearful.

"It's not worth it, Marvel," Gloss whispered, standing beside him, but making no move to touch him again.

Marvel turned around to look at me and his eyes were so frantic that I could see he was livid. He felt betrayed. I gulped slightly, not breaking the eye contact but wanting it to end because it was starting to make me feel uncomfortable and guilty, guilt, that emotion that always seemed to be associated with this kid, that emotion that I had been trained to forget. I couldn't though…I just couldn't when it came to his pain. I was stumped.

He turned his tense body, pointing at me, accusingly. "When I get my hands on you, I will rip you to shreds," He threatened calmly in an almost pleasant voice, that made it more dramatic, his Capitol accent, escaping him again, accentuating his fancy words. He gave me the fakest smile he could muster and started to walk away.

As he neared the table of drinks, lying innocently for the tributes, he fumbled with one of the glass cups, struggling to get a hold of it with his sweaty hands, before grasping it safely and flinging it on the other side with the same accuracy I had seen him throw his spear. It crashed loudly against the wall, the pieces of crystals scattering on the floor. I wasn't the only one that flinched then; everybody had a petrified look on their face, especially the younger tributes who were too afraid to move a muscle.

He straightened after, turning to the other part of the room with a wide, sadistic smile and announced loudly,

"I hope today's entertainment lived up to your expectations."

With that he calmly strolled out of the room, not even slamming the door shut, politely closing it behind him. The room remained in complete silence. Nobody shifted, nobody dared to speak and nobody seemed to want to be there anymore.

The lady announced the next tribute to be interviewed and I stood up, giving an exaggerated bow to the room, playing his game, before entering the stage where Caesar and the fans were waiting. I knew with the way Caesar looked at me that he knew I had been the one so I mouthed 'Don't do that to him', hoping he would be merciful. I didn't think anything I could say would surpass their last interview but I didn't care enough to make their day interesting. My day had already been ruined.

They would have to wait a little longer before they knew that I was the brutal monster that marked their favorite as mine.


	5. Mammon's Avaritia Part II

**Chapter 5 – Mammon's Avaritia**

**Part II/II**

Cato's POV

I was looking forward to _not_ seeing Marvel for a while, possibly until we were in the arena, running for our lives. I didn't know what I would have to put up with at our confrontation but I was reluctant to face it just yet. I wasn't a coward by any means. I was well aware that he would try to hurt me physically even before he threatened me.

That aspect, the pain, was not what scared me. It was the emotions that being around him in that state brought: those little glimpses of guilt and regret, the little instances of possessiveness and protection. The fact that bothered me most was that I felt as if he was like a time bomb and I was stupidly reducing the seconds before detonation.

He was too calm in moments of storm and he was too unpredictable to be stable. I didn't know how he would take to the arena but I was sure that the Gamekeepers knew, seeing as they had made him that way. They liked him dangerous. I wonder if they tried too hard to recreate him, so hard that they broke something inside and now he was unable to be controlled by anyone. Had anyone ever followed his line of logic? Did Gloss truly know what he was going through?

I did notice though that I seemed to be the only one who could provoke such extreme emotions from him. With others he was passive, calm and relaxed; he never sought confrontation. But with me he could release that pent up energy, trapped inside by the limitations that the Capitol had placed on him. He could get angry, go wild, throw objects around, threaten, play, be a normal teenager. I liked that aggressive side of him, the side that pushed me to my limits, made me grip my hair in frustration and bite my lip in hesitation. I was glad I was the only one he showed that too but I was worried that my behavior was blowing that flickering candle out.

The moment of confrontation came faster than any of us could have imagined when Seneca Crane, the pedophile I had decided, announced that Marvel and I had to meet him at the training room for a special case. It didn't take a genius to figure out we were being punished for our misbehavior in the training grounds. I was starting to think we would be forgiven since it involved tributes from the top districts, since it involved their little baby. President Snow must have laid down the law for Seneca. They must have wanted to keep up appearances since the information had clearly leaked beyond the walls of the training center or they must have thought the treatment would somehow, through blood and tears, increase Marvel's odds of winning. I wouldn't say 'ours' because nobody really cared about me that much. I wasn't a special case by any means.

I was getting anxious, sitting on the metal bench and waiting for Marvel to show up. Leaning on my knees, staring at the wall across, I could feel my adrenaline kicking in. The elevator door finally opened to reveal him sporting an old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He looked exhausted, like somebody had dragged him out of bed, his eyes droopy and his hair a mess. I could still spot my mark on his neck and, by the slightly faded look, I assumed they were taking steps to make it heal faster. The thought of that happening made me want to remark him but I was fairly certain it would not go as gracefully as the first time.

As soon as he spotted my presence his entire posture changed and his fists clenched by his sides. His body went rigid and his face was stone cold. He had eased down from his fury, only small remains of it fluttering in the air, but he was still uncomfortable around me. I didn't know what Gloss did to him behind the scenes to make him so docile after his anger outbursts. I didn't want to think about it because my thoughts were absurd, my perverted imagination too vivid, picturing the outline of his hands through the steamy shower glass as he bend down. I wanted to learn the technique behind it though because it would come in handy at the arena. If it really was what my mind kept plastering all over my unwilling eyes, pictures of Marvel ripping up his expensive shirts, clinging to the back of them, moaning in ecstasy, maybe I would enjoy learning it after all. I decided to dislike Gloss.

My fist grasped around the sides of the bench close to denting it and I waited in anticipation for the encounter to come. I stood up when he walked towards me, keeping my face blank as to not give him the wrong opinion. A part of me wanted reconciliation but obviously that part could be easily squashed by the one who could not admit fault.

I saw him raise his hand and before I could conceptualize what was happening, he had slapped me across the face, hard enough to set my check on fire. My mouth filled with blood and my brain went into fight mode. I could not believe he had touched me again but I couldn't get myself to touch him back because the stupid part kept repeating in the back of my mind that I deserved that and more. I spit the remains of my mouth on the floor, turning towards him with a smug look and smirking, some blood still staining my lips red before the backside of my hand wiped it away.

"That all you got, bitch?" I grunted, teasing him because fuck civil, I would not let him walk all over me. I had been the calm one this time and he was abusing that. The pervious anger that had corrupted him in the waiting room was starting to make a comeback and it was scaring me not only because he was spontaneous and deadly, but also because we were right outside Seneca Crane's door about to be punished for fighting in the first place. When my eyes shifted towards the other room, I could see the same dawn of understanding in his sea-foam eyes, his common sense pushing his aggression back.

"Don't push me," He managed to growl from his grit teeth, resigned, having realized that he couldn't do what he really wanted in the current circumstances.

I slowly raised my hands as in not to scare him away, placing them lightly on the side of his arms and I felt his biceps instinctually flex against my palm in show. His entire body went rigid at my touch and I thought about backing out but I didn't because usually going with my gut worked out for me when dealing with his mood swings. His eyes searched mine and I tried to give him the most apologetic expression I could muster because there was no way in hell, I would verbally apologize. I hadn't done it in years. I didn't think it was possible. He must have understood my pain because I could feel his muscles loosen. I liked that I didn't have to explain everything to him to make him get it.

"Let's not do this here. I know, I deserved it," I murmured, pleading with him, still holding his arms down in case he decided to produce another bruise on my face. The one on my cheek hurt and I eyed his scarred face, wanting to run my hands against the white skin. It was surprising to me that I had managed to control my anger long enough to soothe his.

He nodded swiftly, accepting my terms. A few seconds passed in my indecision where he allowed me to keep touching him before he shook my hands away and distanced himself, ignoring me. I took that as a sign of a détente. I was not too happy at his mood but at least I had gotten him to sit still for now. The silly part of me, I really need to find it a name, whispered that if it weren't me, Marvel would have not been this malleable when angry. For the first time, my entire mind agreed on that.

Side by side, we waited in suspense for what was to come next and I just hoped it wasn't something that would place me at a disadvantage tomorrow morning when it really counted.

* * *

"We are going to play a very simple game, since we love games here at the Capitol," Seneca's smooth voice explained, as we sat down in front of him, looking at him in disinterest that hid our anxiety. I knew I would grow to hate the man at some point during his treatment. I already despised him when his eyes crinkled on the sides with a smile every time he caught Marvel staring at him. He was too excited about the prospects of what was to come.

"Baby-Marvel here might know this game," he mentioned lightly, smiling down at Marvel who frowned, lowering his eyes. I frowned deeper, marring my forehead.

I looked back and forth, trying to understand their relationship. Marvel obviously knew a lot of people related to the Games but I didn't know he was that well affiliated. I wondered if the sponsors knew and I wondered if that knowledge would give him an edge or make him a target in the arena. Seneca seemed to be enjoying the time he was offered to see him again.

"It's called Game Theory," Seneca revealed the name and that did not ring any bells for me, nor did it give me any ideas on what it was about.

Marvel, on the other hand, froze at the mention of the name and I guessed Seneca had assumed right, Marvel was indeed familiar with the type of torture we were going to be subjugated too. The fact bewildered me again because it meant that Marvel had already gone through some of these treatments. I didn't let my mind start to piece everything together because that was not what I needed at the moment. If I started relating to the other boy, I would have more difficulty keeping my emotions under control. I didn't need any extra attachments, what with Clove being the closest thing to a little sister, and Glimmer being the closest thing to a possible mate. There seemed to be no more empty spaces in my small, darkened heart. What would he be to me anyway? What was he to me?

"Here is how it works," Seneca started explaining and I shifted in my chair, making it screech against the ground, to pay attention to him. "You have both been very bad boys so the Capitol has decided that a little punishment is due."

Sitting on his chair and waiting to be put through some sort of pain, I was starting to forget about what Marvel and I fought about in the first place. I should have contained my anger a little better but he had provoked me. I was starting to believe that everything had been part of his plan, to come here and place a handicap on me before the Games. Had I been fooled?

But that couldn't be true because he had apologized after, come to me distraught, practically half-conscious from my damage, and asked for forgiveness. He had bled from me and he had still stood by my side the next day. In the past few days, I had been the instigator of every argument we had gone through and I was starting to see a trend in my behavior. For some reason, I needed the tension that our fights provided; I needed to know that he was focused solely on me; I needed to know that I could push him around and have him not go for my throat because he hadn't yet and I didn't believe he ever would.

"Normally, we charge ten whip lashes for a first sign of aggression between tributes outside of the arena. But since you two are special, we would like to make you a very special offer," Seneca continued and my lip curled in disgust at how he was encircling us.

He stopped behind us and patted Marvel lightly on the head. I hadn't realized I had growled viciously until both of them stared at me in surprise. My entire body had bristled as Seneca analyzed my behavior, not pulling away from the District 1 boy who looked at me calmly through those green eyes. Though I wanted to explode again, looking at him turned towards me, completely ignoring the others invading fingers, soothed my nerves and I fell back into the chair, crossing my arms and shaking my head but not giving in to the temper tantrum festering.

"Both of you will be presented with two choices; you can either 'Attack' or 'Pass'. Placed in separate rooms, you will be asked simultaneously to choose one of the two choices without having had any contact with each other."

It was unlike the Capitol to even provide a choice unless it was between a bad one and a worse one, which was probably the case right now. As Seneca turned his back towards us, looking around and explaining, attempting to make the situation more suspenseful, I turned towards Marvel again and questioned him with my eyes but his expression remained blank. He must have been really mad at me because usually he would break after my light-blue, puppy dog eyes. Maybe I was losing my charm or worse, maybe I was losing my influence on him. That was unacceptable.

"Now, listen, this is important." Seneca emphasized by slamming his palm on a surface and we both jumped up, breaking the eye contact. Nothing seemed to escape this man.

"If you both choose to 'Attack', you will each get the original punishment and be whipped severely ten times," Seneca mentioned in a bored tone and I assumed that was not the result he wanted to happen. It didn't sound like anything special to me. I had started to wish he had just whopped our asses without the speech but knowing the Capitol, there needed to be a dramatic monologue in front of everything.

"If you both choose to 'Pass' instead, your punishment will be cut in half, each of you receiving only five whips." Seneca smiled lightly and from the incredulous expression on his face, I deduced that was the least likely outcome, though I had yet to understand why. It was the best one and there didn't seem to be a catch just yet. A part of me doubted they would ever let us go that easily without paying our dues and that cynical part remained alert for the last option, the 'fuck-you-in-the-ass' one.

"But if one of you chooses to 'Attack' _while_ the other one chooses to 'Pass', the passer will receive the collective number of twenty whips, while the attacker receives…"

"None." Marvel murmured, defeated, finally raising his voice and Seneca chuckled in agreement.

By the dejected look on Marvel's face, I knew he had no hope for the best option to happen and that upset me, seeing as it automatically meant he did not think I was capable of choosing an option that didn't benefit solely me. I admit that was the image I was trying to portray to the Capitol, that was the angle I was playing, but a part of me wished that the people closest to me could tell that the persona was not all who I was, it was not who I wanted to be.

It could easily fool the Capitol because they wanted to believe that everyone was that two dimensional, presented as a characteristic and not a set of them. Did they realize how stupid they looked wasting their time, creating a 'character' with absolutely no backstory that was not in the least human? Did they understand how much too much they talked without saying anything?

I was stunned into silence at the shear cruelty of the treatment. If we both decided to be merciful, we would both be better off. The principle of the Nash Equilibrium: what was good for the whole was good for everyone in specific too. However, that choice would put us at risk for being the only one to Pass, which in turn would mean one would get quadruple the punishment while watching the other escape the treatment with no scrapes. High risk, high reward they said.

What did I have to do?

What would Marvel do?

He had obviously experienced the treatment before. Would he try to get me to pass while he attacked? Was he trying to trick me into choosing the easiest way? Was he trying to get revenge on me for before? Did he think I would betray him again so he would protect himself this time, deny that naïve side a chance to come out? Were his passive attitude and his innocent, jade eyes just a front?

He had me reeling and I didn't trust him enough. I couldn't just yet. It made sense to attack. It was the only win-win situation. I would either get the standard ten or none, but knowing Marvel, he was smart enough to figure the solution out too. We would both attack and both get the standard ten. That would be the end of the punishment and the Capitol would be un-entertained. No one would be the wiser.

* * *

Standing in front of Seneca waiting for the final results, my hands were shaking and my throat was dry. Marvel had been too quiet the entire time, not catching my eye for long enough to hint at his decision. I wish he wasn't that withdrawn whenever he was around the gamekeepers. It made me wonder how they all were involved in his shady past.

I was at the edge of my nerves, needing to find out how the stupid game was going to go, how bad the whips would hurt against my back. I knew how it was going to end, I could see the blood; I just needed it confirmed so that sense of insecurity near my gut would shut up about me making the wrong choice. I was starting to think I was doomed to always hurt him in the end. I was started to become nihilistic.

"My dear Marvel, you never fail to disappoint me," Seneca drawled in a tone that laced pity with amusement, a repulsive combination. My lip curled predictably.

The statement drew me out of my mind and into facing Marvel again who was standing by my side, for the first time looking up and giving Seneca a slight smirk. His eyes looked mischievous. Their interaction remained creepily familiar and I was getting uncomfortable just being in the same room as them. I felt out of the loop.

I interpreted from Marvel's expression that he had done what I expected and chosen to attack so I couldn't understand why Seneca was smiling in joy. I didn't have enough time to piece together what that meant for the situation, satisfied at myself for holding strong and going with my instincts, because Seneca had announced the results and I froze on the spot, trying to understand the information being offered, gaping and shaking my head.

"It's your lucky day, Cato, because Marvel here chose to pass while you chose to attack," Seneca declared proudly, unable to keep the grin of his face. I was immobile in distress. Marvel had taken one for the team and sacrificed himself. That had to be it because he knew exactly how the game was played—hell, he had done it before. How had I missed that outcome? Where had I gone wrong in my calculations?

In the back of my head, the memory of Brutus recreated itself, telling me that I should have trusted my pack to have my back, should have, as a leader, considered the benefit of the whole, should have protected him. A barrel of emotions invaded my head, starting with frustration, denial, regret, anger and ending with absurd notions such as betrayal and inability to shield.

"You fucking liar!" I yelled the first comeback that came to my mind before I could even stop myself, causing Marvel to look at me in concern, slightly shaking his head for me to stop. I didn't care about my language or Seneca's surprised face. I didn't care about Marvel, staring at me in sadness. He wanted to recognize my existence? After he had fucked everything up? I glared back at him heatedly, making him pout and lower his eyes, turning to face Seneca, hoping that he was trying to play with me.

"I'm afraid not, Cato," he murmured, feigning pity, pursing his lips and shaking his head gravely. His whole demeanor was purposely aggravating me. He wanted me to explode because he wanted some entertainment but he would not get it from me that day. He would get it from his little pawn who couldn't help but be dramatic. I knew I was being selfish to think of his 'noble' sacrifice as a ploy for attention but honestly that was the only way I could stop from drowning in self-pity.

"Are you disappointed in your partner, Marvel?" Seneca questioned, strolling around the room, his attention completely having moved from me, the person who was not reacting the way he wanted. I understood that his questions were trying to poke holes into me until they found my soft spot. He was obviously trying to further irritate our relationship, possibly sever our barely-existent bond.

I didn't quite understand the reasons behind it, seeing as I would be a good tribute to ally with. I knew they ultimately wanted Marvel to win but wouldn't his odds increase if I protected him up until we were the only two left? Did they think he would not be able to beat me head to head? What strategy were they trying to use?

That line of thinking was if the Capitol was even helping Marvel win. For all I knew, they probably weren't giving two fucks about who won as long as they got some blood in the end. They placed Marvel in to disturb the calm water but they had no intention on having him come out alive. On the contrary, they thought that he would be the main target, being the Capitol's lap dog. Was I making the right decision by teaming up with him, the pin-less grenade?

I realized that the doubts were probably what the Capitol wanted to instill in me. They wanted me to be insecure about my decisions. They wanted to distance me from the only comrades that I would have next to me, loyally fighting by my side. I looked over at Marvel, hesitating to answer the question poised. He seemed so harmless and vulnerable. I knew that was an angle he used; I didn't doubt that and I congratulated him for it because it was brilliant. But I also knew that I could never doubt his loyalty to the pack. After all, he had shown it right there. He had bore the brunt; he had saved me.

"I would be disappointed if he hadn't attacked," Marvel finally replied, looking over at me with a slight grin. He was trying to appease my guilt but it wasn't working well. I found his changes in demeanor too quick to judge properly. Only an hour ago, he wanted to bash my skull open and now he was back to smiling. I wanted him to make up his mind already.

Seneca frowned a little at the response, realizing he wasn't making any progress at breaking our relationship. He should have known by then that we were experts at doing that on our own. If he really wanted us to kill each other, he should have just locked us up in a room. It would have worked much better than trying to put us against each other in a situation created by the Capitol. Our hatred for the Capitol, we had that in common. We could bond over that.

Standing up, he motioned for us to follow him and we both walked over to smaller and emptier room. By the materials hanging on the wall, I realized it was some sort of torture chamber. Stains of dried blood contaminated the floor and the entire room reeked of fresh wounds. My body was repulsed at the idea, gagging reflexively at the sight. I had been taught to kill but I would never be taught to enjoy putting others in pain. That type of sadism was only present with the Capitol.

"Strip," Seneca muttered, signaling for a couple of peacekeepers to join him in the room. I froze, thinking I had misheard, my entire body preparing for battle. What the fuck was he thinking? The inappropriate imagery invaded my head again, Gloss' sweaty frame replaced by Seneca's leaner one. I might have puked in my mouth.

I didn't realize that in the time it took me to look around the room in disgust, Marvel had raised the shirt off his body and thrown it over his head. I turned to him in shock, questioning him with my eyes. I could see the injuries I had caused him in the fight that got us in that mess were fading, only some scaring and bruising remaining in his upper torso, adding to the already existing injuries. I wondered which of those Seneca had caused. I sizzled in anger. The spotting on his skin was one more reminder that that could all have been prevented.

Marvel proceeded to take of his pants, standing up only sporting a pair of boxers, and I found it completely disturbing that he obeyed them so easily without putting up a fight. Where was the feisty boy I got to experience all the time? Where was the one that pushed me to the floor, slapped me in the face without fear or hesitation? Why wasn't he active?

The situation was borderline creepy and perverted, it made me want to retch. The constant practice was probably why Marvel was so comfortable strolling around in his boxers in front of everyone. I couldn't look at him the same way now that I saw him strutting out of that parade room.

I couldn't stand the setting anymore and I didn't have to. Thanks to Marvel, I had earned a free pass from that exercise. I had to use it because staying there and seeing him beaten and bloody would definitely drive my guilt to an abominable rate. That overload of emotions would not be good for my psyche before the game.

I turned around to face away from him and walked slowly towards the door, shaking my head in revulsion but keeping my eyes down like a pussy, not looking for confrontation. A strong hand reached out to halt me, grabbing the back of my shirt roughly. I just about snarled, facing the peacekeeper before glaring heatedly at Seneca who was looking at me in pity and amusement. His eyes seemed to mock my naivety.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?" He asked casually, fiddling with a new, leather whip, caressing it in his manicured hands. It had been freshly made because there were no stains in it. They had saved that one for their little Marvel, for him to mark it with his blood. It was probably going to go in their hall of fame soon after, bathed in his pain.

"I don't have to be here," I grunted, staring him down and avoiding to look at Marvel who had been way too quiet for my liking all evening.

"Oh, but you do, Cato. You still have a job to do," he explained patiently, walking towards my rigid body and placing the whip in my hands. I looked up to him in disbelief, shaking my head automatically in pleading. He couldn't be serious. It was cruel; it wasn't okay even by the Capitol's standards.

"I won't," I stated simply, offering the whip back, but he had already turned away from me, walking towards Marvel, standing in the middle of the room with nothing on but his black boxers. A part of me acknowledged the desire I had expressed to see him in that state of undress again since after the parade. I had just been hoping it would be under different circumstances.

Seneca moved to slightly push Marvel's hair out of his eyes, which I resented, before wrapping a black blindfold against them. By the relaxed, passive feel in Marvel's body, I was certain that was not the first time he had gone through the experience. He seemed to know exactly what to expect: how to stand to make it easier for them to function, what the order of events was, how to lock his feelings to the back of his mind. Upon his sight being taken away from him, he crouched down on the ground, his back facing all of us, his hands on the filthy floor, clenching once before completely laying flat, resigned like his attitude.

"Well, Cato, while we are young," Seneca urged, motioning for me to come forward and join him on the mat next to Marvel. I looked around the room in distress, considering the blank faces of the peacekeepers, used to the sight of cruelty and blood—I would have no allies here.

"Forget it!" I blurted out, looking at him in astonishment that he would even think for a moment I would run over to him, smiling like a fool. The man would not make me do anything. "I won't hurt him. I can—"

"You will," he said sternly, leaving no room for debate, shutting me up like a clam, his face had lost all of the amusement. He was staring at me in anger at my obvious disobedience. I was grabbed again from my forearm and dragged across the floor forward, stumbling on my own feet and almost falling on top of his crouched form. "You will and you will make it good."

I remained speechless, the information finally sinking into my mind. There was no way out of that one demented hell. I would have to hurt him again. I would have to disappoint him for the fourth time, be the sole cause of his distress. Not only there was no way I could forget about that event but there was absolutely no way I would not be the one to blame for Marvel's disadvantages in the arena. The arena, the next day, where he would be handicapped by my hand. How would I ever make it up to him?

"If I don't deem one of the rounds..._resolute_ enough, I will deliver an extra one to make up for your incompetence." Seneca drawled, wrapping his hands with another whip, this one older and used. By the look of his hands, he didn't do much of the punishing himself, because he did not have the rough hands of a torturer. I guess Marvel was everyone's exception.

I had started sweating, my hands becoming slippery on the smooth surface of the whip. I had to convince myself that this was no different than what I had been trained to do, kill others, deliver the final blow. It didn't matter that it was Marvel because I would have to kill him too at some point. I would have to crush his dreams and take the light away from his eyes. This would only increase my odds of winning. I was an emotionless monster; I didn't care about him—I could do this.

With these thoughts running rampage through my mind, I moved back to prepare for the punishment I had to deliver, knowing that I was only pushing back my fear and regret, driving them down. I would never escape them for long. That night, when I lay down in bed, I would re-live the present quite vividly, smell the blood, hear his begging, and wake up screaming for it to stop, hating myself, wanting to run up to his injured body to apologize, to lay down next to him so no one else harms him like that again.

I would think about that later, not now, later.

I just hoped he did not scream because I didn't think I would be able to ever hear his voice again without remembering. I saw his back tense and his hands shake slightly before I blinded myself to those details, getting through the treatment as fast as I could.

With every smack of the whip, I repeated in my head, 'Forgive me'.

* * *

"He can't do this anymore. You're killing him," I pleaded dryly, seeing him tremble violently, sobs racking his fragile frame, his entire back leaking blood non stop since we first begun. I had given up trying to intimidate the Capitol into doing anything. They hadn't even flinched the first time he fell on the floor, saliva and blood, dripping from his mouth, his nails destroyed from how hard he scratched the floor.

I could see the gashes I had caused if I really concentrated on the ripped flesh. I didn't know how much time had passed since we started. All I knew was that we were on number eighteen and it looked as if Marvel would collapse on our feet. He looked paler than ever and the blood was crimson, contrasting against his skin.

He had been so strong, blown me out of the water. He had not let out a single scream though I knew how badly he must have wanted to because he had bit his tongue hard enough to fill his mouth with blood, which dripped on the floor. I could tell his lip was bit to the point of gashed skin and his eyes had wet the blindfold shamelessly. I understood then, what the point of that blindfold was. I didn't think anybody would be able to do this to him with his big, green eyes looking at them and asking 'why'. Nobody would be able to look at him again without remembering how much pain had flooded them during the treatment.

At one point, I had been told to stop as Seneca and another guard, had hurried to clean his face with fresh, cool water, when he had started heaving in pain, gagging raggedly. I panicked, thinking he was choking, but realized when they placed a cotton ball of alcohol under his nose, that he was close to fainting. They wouldn't let him even do that.

"Continue please," Seneca stated plainly, but I could see he was almost as affected as I, gripping the alcohol wipe in his right hand.

He had stopped looking down at the other boy and had not offered to add an extra whip ever since I faltered in the fifth one. I had taken the opportunity to make each lash lighter, knowing he wouldn't stop me. He really didn't have the stomach of someone who could do this; he wasn't an executer, he was a spectator when it came to deaths. He was too refined for the grit and the gore. I wouldn't be surprised if he emptied his stomach here before either of us did.

"This is inhumane," I whispered hopeless, knowing that he would have to go through two more rounds even with my whining.

I took a deep breath before letting the whip connect with his back, eliciting a shattering sound that would make me cringe in the future no matter the circumstance. Marvel tensed, his hands now clenched in fists, the nails having already cut the skin of his palm. More blood oozed out of the previous gashes; dripping on the floor enlarging the puddle he was sitting on. His boxers were wet and sticking to his skin.

One more I kept telling myself. The end was so close. Delivering the last blow felt as if the entire population of the room had heaved a sigh of relief and slumped their shoulders. Seneca being the first one to move ran the back of his hand over his drenched forehead and leaned on a nearby table. I stayed motionless, looking down at the boy, observing my damage. As soon as the last blow insulted his back, he completely let himself fall on the floor, placing his face on his arms. He must have been counting down too. I could tell he was in excruciating pain because his entire body was shaking and by the way his shoulders moved, he was probably crying too. I couldn't be sure because his face was hidden from the world and his eyes even more so.

The whip was taken away from me and I was grabbed again forcefully, being dragged from the room by my shirt. That time they wouldn't get away with it though. I slapped the offending hand away, snarling wildly, and moved back to my original position, crouching beside him and gently hoisting him up on my lap from his undamaged arms. I could sense the entire room was observing our interaction. Seneca looked at us in mild confusion, not expecting my actions. I didn't expect them either. It was as if I had blocked my thoughts during the torture and they still had not been released. I was acting solely on instinct.

The boy stiffened in my hands, before I removed his blindfold, revealing his shining emerald eyes. I didn't know how he was going to react, whether he would hate me, but I certainly didn't expect to be met with grateful eyes. His entire frame slumped on top of me in relief and he managed to give me a slight smile in the midst of the pain. His fingers curled against my sweatpants, the blood from his lips staining them.

I vowed to myself then that I would never let anything like that happen to him ever again. Picking him up bridal style and walking out of the room, leaving everyone behind and alone, I knew I would never be able to sleep well without putting everyone who ever touched him through a slow and painful death. Every scar I saw on his face made me wild in rage.

I would concentrate on keeping him alive, being the factor that eliminated the disadvantage in the arena. I would pray that I could get him through the blood bath. As long as I kept him close enough, his smiles would ward away the contemptuous emotions that invaded me when I thought about our toxic relationship.

"You shouldn't have, you fucking fool," I murmured to him sadly, still holding him close with my hands, without aggravating his leaking back. His eyes had not moved from the logo of my shirt and I doubted he could use them at the moment. They drifted slowly open and closed. My breath fanned the curly bangs of his face.

"Consider it your favor," he muttered back sleepily, about to lose consciousness, cuddling further into my warmth. He was too worn out to put up his usual mask and he was definitely too worn out to be mad at me again.

I had forgotten about our bet until he mentioned it. I had managed to beat him by one point during our training scores. It came to no surprise after all today's events that the small discussion we had before the training would have escaped my mind. The only thing that was permanently stuck in my memory from that encounter was his sturdy stomach and his sexy smirk. That one glimpse was especially persistent during my cold showers.

Handing his fragile, beaten frame to Gloss had taken more effort than I had ever imagined. I knocked on the door, gulping aloud, when I saw his topless self open it, solely sporting a pair of silky pajama pants. I had stood in front of him, reluctant and glaring, for a full five minutes, trying to make myself extend my arms. His sleepy gray eyes had turned deadly when he saw what I was clutching and my hands shook when he stepped forward menacingly, towering over me. I held him tighter against my chest and I felt his hands move to grasp my shirt.

"Stop doing this to him, please. Enough is enough. Aren't you satisfied?" Gloss had muttered angrily to my shocked face, grabbing him away from me by force as I saw his green eyes stir open in confusion. I hated the way his face fell into a smile when he realized it was Gloss, looking down at him.

I made to speak before snapping my mouth shut, not knowing what to say. What was there to be said? He was right. I was destroying him; I was relentless and I needed to stop. Gloss had the defeated look on his eyes that told me he knew Marvel would sacrifice himself. Was I the only one who missed this side of the District 1 tribute?

"I won't let him die," I muttered, uttering a failed promise, as the other man looked at me in pity, moving towards his room.

I was reluctant to face the darkness of the hallways by myself. Though he was passed out, at least I could feel his warmth and his breathing but now he was taken away from me and I was alone again.

"Just…take care of him tomorrow," Gloss grunted, about to close the door at my face and all I could do was nod because I didn't trust my voice to speak.

I didn't know how to deal with emotions that blistered me that night so I settled for what I knew how to do: forget and move on, put on that mask that looked like I didn't care, push him away when all I wanted to do these days was pull him closer. I did wake up screaming his name. I did startle when Clove climbed in bed with me, murmuring for me to get some sleep because he would need me tomorrow. I lay there next to her small frame, fluttering my eyes shut and hoping I didn't see another corpse of him on my feet. I woke up feeling like shit and I puked out my breakfast as Brutus and Clove stared in horror. They were worried.

It seemed like the closer I got to him, the more I fucked up our minds, our bodies and our chances of survival.


	6. Beelzebub's Gula Part I

**Chapter 6 –Beelzebub's Gula**

**Part I/II**

Marvel's POV

I wanted to stay strong. I wanted to sit down and look up to him with a smile. I had to because I didn't want to disappoint him but the moment the door opened and I saw his form walk in, shoulders slumped, eyes saddened, I couldn't breathe right. My eyes watered against my will and the moment the door screeched closed behind him, I was running straight into his chest. My finger grabbed his shirt and my eyes wiped their embarrassment on his torso as I let one measly whimper escape me before I entered the arena.

He murmured for me to keep my head up and when his strong arms wrapped around me, I took one glimpse at his gray eyes, gulping and keeping my bottom lip strong. He looked wary that morning and I tried to convince myself it was because of the late night he had had, trying to patch me up from my latest injuries, but I knew I was lying to my mind. I knew he could feel it as much as I: that was the last time we would see each other. I had lived without him for a long time, years without seeing his face once, but that was different because I knew he was out there and I knew he would come back. He did come back.

Standing in the cold room as he pulled away, wrapping me in my reflective, shiny, black jacket, I could sense his fear and it only made mine worse. I thought I heard him mutter under his breath: 'it's never been this hard before'. His hand went through his hair shakily and he took a deep breath, staring at the door in trepidation, before he nodded towards me and placed a hand in the small of my back to urge me forward. I panicked at first, refusing to move and viciously yanking myself away from him with an anguished 'no' to which he grabbed me again, pulled me to his chest tightly and whispered words of comfort one last time in my life like he had done many sleepless nights before when I was young and alone.

"Please Marvel. You _have_ to relax otherwise you will get hurt, okay? You're more than ready to do this, I know._ You_ know. I will see you again, I promise. I will be right here, waiting for you when you come back a victor, alright baby?" Gloss whispered in my ear, trapping my body in a deathly hold and by how hard he was clutching me, his fingers strangling the black jacket and threading through my hair, I would say his calm tone was a bluff. I took one deep breath, closing my eyes and repeating his words in my head. I took one breath and told myself that wasn't the end. I would come back if just to see him one last time.

"Watch out for me," I murmured in a plain voice and he pulled back, realizing I was ready. He nodded towards me sternly, patting my hair again like he had done the first time I had seen him when I was much, much shorter.

"Of course. If you ever need any help, look at the sky. I'll be right there," He muttered, pulling me towards the exit again and that time I walked forward with him, confident and strong. I didn't let my emotions erupt. I sentenced them all back to the cages of my mind, hoping they wouldn't want to rebel. I would be in the arena soon and I would be alone.

The last word he told me that day was 'win', much like my dad did, only when it came out of his lips it sounded like a prayer, an encouragement and a magic spell all together. It gave me the strength I needed to step in the metallic incline towards the other tributes. It gave me the ability to look at his form disappear into distance and not waver, not cry or whimper.

* * *

Sitting in the hovercraft, being transported to the arena was starting to stress me out more than all the 'good luck' wishes from my mentor and the sponsors. It felt as if I was being shipped off to my death and I knew I wasn't supposed to be thinking morbid thoughts but it couldn't be helped. The dread had set heavily in the air. I was surrounded by other tributes, some looking scared, some looking defeated already and some, namely one, looking determined, even excited. For the first time in my life, I didn't want attention; I wanted to disappear, fly with the birds outside the confines of the metallic plane. I could see the sun behind us for a little longer before the windows closed. I was trapped.

Waking up had been less miserable than I predicted. Gloss had managed to round up my numerous sponsors to donate the best products if they didn't want me to be severely handicapped. The Capitol knew that he was telling on their secrets but they didn't seem to care. Seneca must have felt guiltier than I predicted because he was turning a blind eye on all the gifts. He came to visit me late at night to check on his damage, looking cynically at Gloss' form sitting on my bed with my head on his lap, barely conscious. They argued a little though the haze prevented me from hearing what about. I knew it ended with Seneca walking out swiftly, blurting ultimatums, and Gloss following him immediately, gently hoisting my head on the pillow, to continue the debate in the common room. When the blonde had come back hours later, annoyed and angered, I felt him sit on the floor, leaning his back on my bed for as long as I could remember.

My back had practically healed, all but a few scares faded. It wasn't anything I wasn't used to though the blood had taken a toll on me yesterday. The Capitol's tortures, I had come to realize, hurt more in the moment than in the future. That was how they wanted them to be.

Stumbling to my room half-conscious and bloody was not a new experience though I didn't remember having to do that yesterday. Could I even walk after all the pain that screamed through my nerves? I had wanted to make noise so badly; I had wanted to yell and curse, go insane. I kept quiet though because Cato was there and I could tell he wouldn't be able to handle that.

My memory was not reliable for events that happened halfway through the punishment. All I knew was that there had been a lot of pain. I had woken up with a heavy headache and a burning back to a stressing Gloss, rubbing lotions down my back to cool down the damaged skin. I had smiled to see him but he had only said that he wanted to kill me for being such a fool. I had kept my smile on my face nonetheless.

I had made the right decision to take it all on myself. Cato had supporters but I doubt they would be that active for him. I couldn't take that risk. Besides it would be better to have one of us crippled a little more than both of us crippled equally. Those were the main reasons and then there were some minor ones, merely whispers in the back of my head to keep Cato safe, unharmed and absolutely untouched by anything that the Capitol had to offer. They might have tainted me but he could still be salvaged. He had become in a strange and twisted way my light at the end of the tunnel, the haven for my abandoned emotions.

As I shyly looked around the room, I noticed he was sitting there in all his glory, not batting an eyelash at the situation around him. He was so good at keeping his emotions at bay and I was a little jealous at how unaffected he seemed by the gravity of our situation. After all one of us, maybe both, would not be able to see the world we left behind ever again.

That thought alone was getting me choked up. A part of me knew there was nothing waiting for me if I got back; I did not have a real family and my only friend seem to be coming with me. If it weren't for Gloss and his promises that things would change for me after this obstacle, I would stay in the arena forever, away from the reality of the world, constantly being watched by it enviously.

I tried to not let anything show in my face but it was hard, trying to control so many aspects of myself at the same time, my body language, my posture, my thoughts, and my feelings. I had given up on my eyes because frankly that was a lost cause. Even the Capitol had decided that nothing could be done to mend that, settling for teaching me aversion techniques.

I did pretty well at that solution except for when it came to Cato because looking down, or any other direction that wasn't his crazy-blue eyes, meant I was submitting and I would never allow myself to succumb, so choosing the lesser of both evils I had to deal with the fact that he could see my entire emotional spectrum. I hoped for a while that he was too thick to utilize that weakness to his advantage but lately I was starting to think he could understand me a little too well. He was very smart when you looked past the initial layer of muscle and masculinity.

He seemed to be the one that was born for these Games. They had thought that was me years ago but they had been wrong and it had been too late to admit their mistake so they settled for making sure I had all the unfair advantages to survive, showing me the map of the arena and certain important spots. As Seneca called me over, whispering hints with shrugs and smirks, I kept thinking to myself that it wasn't fair; it was cheating but it wasn't in my hands. I wondered if the Careers always got these advantages but something told me it had only been me, the special case that they would never experiment with again. Sometimes when I felt their scrutinizing eyes on my back as I watched my spear cut holes through the dummies, I believed they were sending me in with the hope that I would die, burry the secret forever. I wouldn't put it past Seneca.

The peacekeeper came up to me with the huge syringe, roughly grabbing my arm to insert the chip, and I startled badly at the contact, barely able to stop myself from yanking my arm back in wild frustration. I didn't like people touching me. As I finally calmed down enough to allow him to finish his job, my eyes moved across the room to Cato's who were looking at me as if I was being nothing but a pathetic child. He was avoiding my eyes all morning, probably because of last night's incident, so I must have attracted his attention with my little drama.

Looking at his condescending expression, I felt the anger rise in me again and I glared back at him, wanting to wipe that superior look off his face, preferably with my fist. My thoughts took a definite turn for the violent around him, something I had never experienced before. I thought he had softened yesterday, crawled out of his shell and made a miniscule step forward. In my point of view last night ameliorated our relationship.

But, alas, he would always be a dick. It was a great loss because when he wanted to be sweet, he was perfect at it. I wondered if Clove got to see him sweet; that innocent thought disturbed me far more than it should have. I convinced myself it was because I always wanted to be special no matter what—I had been diagnosed with narcissism. But deep inside I knew I couldn't care less if I was special in the Capitol's or the sponsors' eyes; Cato's opinion was the only one that mattered. I just didn't know what his opinion was and that was making my self-confidence fluctuate with his spontaneous treatment.

I wished we were more supportive as an alliance but I didn't expect much from anyone of us. After all we had been trained to be killers, get released in the arena and go after everything that moved, not thinking twice about the consequences. We were not good at comforting each other. I doubt we were even expected to. Looking at the way Cato had pushed the young boy from District 4 to the floor the other day, screaming at him for being weak, told me there were no real ties between us. It was all a game, we were just players in a fragile team.

As we prepared to get off the platform, standing up and moving stiffly towards the exit in an assembly line, I felt Cato bump onto me painfully, almost throwing me off my balance as I stumbled, reaching for the side. The peacekeepers gave him a stern 'hey' to which he glared at like a brat. I didn't know if he had been deliberate with the amount of pain he had actually caused me or if he underestimated how sore I actually was. I turned around to confront him, annoyance lining my face, and he gave me a weird look that I could not yet distinguish since it wasn't one of his two main ones: sadism and anger.

We held the eye contact for a few more seconds before he leaned in and purposely touched my back, his fingers sliding down my spine gently. I flinched automatically, not because it hurt but because it something-elsed—it gave me the shivers, it made me nervous. My eyes wavered, staring at his chest instead because he was staring at me in silence and I worried about what emotions I was showing him. I didn't quite know what he wanted from me as an answer. The peacekeepers came to open the doors and he retracted his hand so rapidly that I thought I had burned him.

"Try to keep up, kid," He grunted before walking off in his superior manner and I grit my teeth until it was painful to stop myself from screaming at him. What the hell had just happened to our established relationship? I had just seen it fall down as easily as a sandcastle on a stormy day.

* * *

Standing in the capsule, waving at Lilia's smiling face, felt suffocating and I was afraid I would get claustrophobic, my hands leaving marks on the glass cylinder. I took a deep breath, calming myself down, rolling my shoulders back and cracking my knuckles. It was time to get serious. The elevator started to move and before I knew it, my stylist was never going to dress me again and I was out in the bright, blinding sunlight. First thought was 'hot'. It took my eyes a painful moment to adapt, blinking rapidly.

Everyone around me was going through the same adjustment process and in those split few seconds that I had beat them to it, I made eye contact with Cato, standing a couple of tributes away from me, eyeing the area rapidly with his baby blues. His icy eyes looked at me finally, running down my body once before, nodding. I sighed in relief, knowing I had an alliance, closing my eyes momentarily and giving him a nod back in acknowledgement, biting my lip. He looked over at the Cornucopia and I glanced over, following his eyes, to see all the items we would need, scattered all over the place. When his serious eyes returned back to mine, I knew what he was trying to tell me: 'get there'. Seemed simple enough.

The countdown appeared in front of us. Sixty seconds before blood was shed, sixty seconds before I had to dash forward at top speed, ignoring the sounds of pleading and screaming that would most likely be going on behind me. I kept repeating to myself like a mantra: 'nothing matters, keep going.' At that point, I didn't have any responsibilities but one: to stay alive at whatever cost.

My vision sharpened dramatically, my stomach felt fluttery and my hands started to sweat. I could feel my adrenaline kicking in full blast. My body was preparing itself for the survival moment of a lifetime. It felt as if time had slowed down and those sixty seconds were longer than I previously expected, dragging on and on, while all of us were fidgeting in anticipation, burning in impatience. I flexed my hands once, keeping my eyes on the target and getting into a spiriting position.

I attempted to bring back all their fancy words of advice for this situation. After all, I was trained to do just that and I could manage a simple task. I tried to keep myself concentrated on the numbers, decreasing on the screen. They had told me that the first few seconds after the gong, most tributes would be too shocked to move, reluctant to step off their platforms, trying to hold on to their last shred of peace. I had to absolutely use their indecision to my advantage if I wanted to get anywhere. I wasn't the fastest of the bunch, as training so adequately proved, but I had massive endurance and a commendable pain threshold. As long as I didn't psych myself out and got my hands on a weapon, preferably a spear, I could come out of the bloodbath alive.

The gong rang loudly and before I had time to blink once, Cato was off the platform, sprinting towards the weapons. Clove trailed after him and I charged forward, not thinking twice, yelling for Glimmer to follow. I could sense the chaos that commenced behind me as people were ramming into each other and trying to block other tributes from getting closer.

A lot of screaming, cracking of bones and sobbing ensued and I tried to not look around much, instead opting to keep my eyes on the Cornucopia. I was scared that the sight of murder might deter me long enough to lose my head start. It was called a blood bath for a reason and I was not expecting anything less of a massacre. Sometimes I wished they would just throw us in without the entire show beforehand. It would be easier not to pity people if you didn't know anything about them.

The Cornucopia got closer and I smiled, increasing my speed and crouching down to get a weapon. I had gotten there in record time, ahead of everyone involved, and I chuckled mentally at the other tributes struggling to make the decision to run away or come closer. That moment of cockiness cost me dearly as I soon came to realize.

Before I had time to celebrate the fact that I was safe, somebody rammed hard into me, knocking us on the ground, him on top of me. It was one of the other boys, looking at me through furious eyes that held a shimmer of fear and disbelief and holding a small dagger, trying to lodge it anywhere in my flesh. I panicked for a second frozen in spot, trying to block out the dreading thoughts that were flying through my head. I thought I was going to die or if not, I was going to be injured badly. The boy looking at me must have seen my fear because I saw him waver in his decision and hesitate.

"Get up! Get up, you little bitch!" I heard Cato screaming furiously, his tone laced with desperation, from somewhere behind me. He seemed out of breath, probably fighting simultaneously. I could still make out his voice from the horror movie being played in the background. I knew he was talking to me and that was all the motivation I needed to throw off the boy on top of me, violently struggling against him like I thrashed against Cato the day he wanted to choke me. He did not expect the sudden movement, falling backwards and dropping his knife in the dense grass. I thought about retrieving it and making the death less painful but before I allowed myself time to doubt my decision, like he had, I was on top of his small body, breaking his vulnerable neck with a loud crack as he screamed 'please' in a repeating loop. He stopped moving and I held still on top of his lifeless corpse, breathing hard and looking at my hands, which not surprisingly were covered in blood. He had spared me and I had taken his weakness to my advantage. I had taken his life. I had taken him from his parents like the Capitol took me.

My breath hitched. I used to be deadly afraid of blood before they had conditioned me against it during my stay in the Capitol. Classical conditioning and aversion therapy they called it but it sounded more like torture to a young child. I had flashbacks of the exercises they would put me through, forcing me to slaughter animals, drowning me in pools of their blood. I had flashbacks of the many times I had emptied my stomach and the screams of protest that came out of my mouth and the several anxiety attacks that I had to fight through to avoid punishment. The memories were so real that I could smell the stench of blood or maybe that was the reality of the arena.

The noises shut off for a moment. It was so quiet that I was scared I had gone deaf. My hands moved to my ears in fear, bringing the smell closer. I couldn't hear anything but the blood rushing in my veins and my deranged heartbeat. I panicked more realizing I was having an anxiety attack in the middle of the arena with others trying to kill me.

Panicking about fear of panicking was the worst loop to get stuck in at the moment. I was trying to force my body into action again but my limbs wouldn't obey my commands and my head felt heavy. Was I getting enough air? Was I going to lose all my other senses? Would they think I was dead if I just passed out? I was scared and for a second, I felt like that had to be the end. Gloss had been wrong. I couldn't do it without him. I was too weak.

It was the second before Cato appeared in front of me, physically shaking me awake and screaming my name. He seemed concerned and angry with me at the same time, trying to get me to respond to him. One of his hands went through my hair, pushing the bangs out of my lost eyes while the other continued to quake me from my upper arm. I could see his face hazily go in and out of focus. He had such beautiful blue eyes. They were so clear and they reminded me of the sky, the sky that the birds flew free in.

I couldn't hear him at all and I wasn't in shape to read his frantic lips at the moment but I could sense the warmth and strength of his touch and the fact that he was there, right next to me, meant I was safe because he was my new protector. Calmness started to wash over me again. My heartbeat slowed down to its original pace and my vision cleared up. I felt my lungs fill with the right amount of air and I could move my hands to clutch my chest in pain.

Suddenly, he yanked me to his body as he cut another boy open, one standing right in front of us with a sword of his own and a smile that expressed how excited he was at the prospect of killing us both at once. The blood squirted out of his open would, showering both of us, and as soon as I felt it land on my face, everything came back to life. It was so loud at first and the screaming was unbearable, so many different pitches. I startled awake and Cato must have sensed my return because I felt him sigh heavily before scolding me and moving away slightly. That was disappointing.

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me, Marvel?" It was the first time he had used my name and I found it ironic that I couldn't really enjoy the situation. He steadied me a little more roughly that I would have liked to be handled but I didn't mind as long as he was still touching me. I was scared that the moment he pulled away so would the comfort of being able to breathe. In the forefront of my mind, I wanted to stand up and keep going again to prove him I wasn't that weak. I felt as if I had let him down. I was embarrassed at my performance. After all, I was supposed to be the one that could do it with his eyes closed, the chosen one. Why must I always fail the ones I care about? The thought made me feel bitter.

"I'm fine. Don't touch me. I'm okay," I muttered, annoyed at myself, pushing him away lightly and attempting to get up from the soggy ground. My legs were still shaky and halfway through my standing, I felt dizzy so I stopped in self-hate. I couldn't do this.

He snorted sarcastically, muttering, "Like hell you are." But he didn't stop me; instead he dragged me up from the forearm when he saw me hesitate in discomfort. I grunted, swaying and he held on as his face blurred out, sighing 'shit' under his breath. He didn't comment on my weakness, which I was insanely grateful for, and he stayed by my side to catch me if I collapsed, looking around at the condition of the field to give me some space to compose myself.

My eyes scrambled to find Glimmer's blonde hair and graceful body, as she started waving at me worriedly, before running after another tribute. She was so much stronger than me and seeing her in action, eased my fears. I wasn't the only one who needed to kill. Everyone had to and people would understand. I could tell Cato was glancing at me in curiosity from the corner of his eye and once he fully realized who I was gawking at and why the stupid smile was on my face, he let go of me so suddenly, retrieving his limbs, that I crumbled on the floor with a yelp, pleading his name.

He caught me swiftly before I made contact with the ground, grunting 'weakling' annoyed as he pulled me up into his arms again, steadying me on my feet. My hands clenched against his shirt to hold myself up and simultaneously choke him for being such an asshole. My legs shook as my entire body trembled and his grip was irritating my back. I wanted to sob out my frustration because we both knew I depended on him and he was playing with me so cruelly, making fun of my weakness in front of cameras on the first day. He already knew I would lose some sponsors over my first hesitation. What was the point in making it worse?

"I hate you—" I started to growl angrily, dropping my head on his chest in desperation, before his regretful sigh stopped me and his soft voice interrupted my sentence. His blue eyes came down to meet mine, shutting me up with the sincerity behind them. His hands moved to my waist, no longer touching the bandages on my back, and I was slowly losing sense of my surrounding though I knew it was ridiculous of me.

"I shouldn't have, I know. I was being a jerk. Just tell me when you're well enough to stand on your own," He murmured in a serious tone before looking away from me again, staring worriedly with a bit lip at our surroundings. He had dropped his sword now in favor of supporting me and we were pretty vulnerable if anybody would take note. My heart thumped at his statement and the smile found its way back to my face. I held on to his shirt though I knew he wouldn't try anything again.

And as soon as I was stable enough to balance on my own, I shifted in his grasp, nodding towards him with a faint smile of appreciation. He retrieved his hands slowly, testing the ground, and I stood without wavering, staring at him in strength. I heard the small sigh that escaped his lips as he nodded towards me.

"Thank you," I whispered as he moved away, lowering to grab his sword. When he came back to my side, he grabbed the back of my head roughly, kneading his fingers through my thick, messy hair, and inched me forward, whispering in my ear with a gruff, husky tone,

"Kill them all or they will kill you."

I felt the familiar weight of a spear being placed on my hands and I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, smelling his musky scent and feeling his warm breath against my neck before opening them and meeting his blue ones with fierce determination. He had blood on his face, staining his cheek and contrasting heavily with his eyes but somehow I didn't mind that because it was on him and he made everything look good. He made everything bearable.

He nodded at my reaction; stepping away to finish his work but not before he turned around twice in the midst of his jog to check on me. I promised to myself I would not let my pack down. I would finish what I started and I would not allow the past to hold me back any longer. That was it. That was the final straw where the entire path I had walked on since I was a child ended, running in fear on my way in and strutting in confidence on my way out. I had people depending on me. I would not disappoint them. I would not let him think he had to do this alone.

So the rest of the time was passed in a blur of bodies, flesh exploding, tearing apart and releasing the insides. Screaming faces, begging words and wide, dead eyes, staring back at me in retribution. My emotions though were nowhere to be seen, hiding in the corner in horror at what my physical body could actually do when put to test.

* * *

"Cato, stop! Cato, please!" I was screaming in desperation, running towards him, sprinting as fast as my muscles would allow me after the struggle I put them through. The sprint to the weapons had taken a toll on my body, chasing the other tributes and lunging for them had exerted even more energy. Why were there so many? They had all been too stupid, trying to collect items, blind to all of us, awaiting there like demons to transport them to another world. I had taken out a couple myself; Clove had aided me in a couple more, acting as my partner in crime, holding some of the screaming ones immobile, long enough for me to open their insides. I kept thinking as I saw her small body attach itself to their trembling torsos that she was too young, just a child.

My lungs were lacking the oxygen necessary and I had that burning feeling in my throat, preventing me from swallowing. The simultaneous task of exercise and yelling was not helping the matter. My throat felt too sore; I needed water but I knew I had to get to him and every second wasted could mean life or death. He had been there for me when I needed it and it was time to pay back my dues, though I doubt he saw the dilemma he had put himself in as a dangerous situation.

He wasn't even listening to my screams, facing the Cornucopia and preparing to deal the final blow. I could see his back muscles tense as he raised his sword in preparation. The noises around us, the agonizing screams of terror and the gurgling sound of blood escaping the bodies was sickening. There were moments where all of it disappeared, when the adrenaline was running so high that I had no time to think. That wasn't one of them, because thinking had gotten me to make the decision in the first place.

"No! Cato, dont!" I protested, trying to get his attention away from the tribute in front of him. I was almost there, one last push would allow me to reach him—stop him, before he did something he would regret. The other tributes were still scrambling around me, cleaning up the messes by making sure everyone was dead. The chaos had yet to stop. There were items scattered all over the place, making it harder to run uphill. Some of them were ruined, stomped over or covered in disgusting consistencies.

I could not see his face but I could imagine his smirk and I shivered, hating the fact that he was enjoying the slaughter. It made him look like the monster everyone wished he would be. The way he sprinted to the Cornucopia before people had time to even wrap their minds around the reality of their situations was a clear sign that he was not easy to intimidate. He was there with a sword in his hand, mercilessly going after others before they had time to think one last thought, one last wish. These people that we had practically lived with for the last week meant nothing to him. They meant nothing to me either. My hands were as bloody as his, my track record soiled before I even entered the capsule, but I was at least affected by it. I was driven insane. I could at least control myself—stop.

When I was two feet away from him, his sword stroke, a piercing scream was heard and I tackled him to the ground, resulting in both of us rolling down the hill in a heap. He groaned in surprise and pain as we landed a few feet away, him on his back and me on my stomach. The world spun for a little and I spit blood on the grass before I urged myself to sit up, rasping.

When he looked at me, I could see the light return to his blue eyes, a flicker of recognition before he suddenly looked lost. That was the last emotion I expected from him and it stopped the heated speech running through my mind from coming out of my mouth. He wasn't angry at my interruption; he wasn't upset like I had feared. He was confused, staring at me silently with his head cocked sideways.

"He was one of us, you sick fuck! He was one of us!" I screamed my lungs out in explanation at his surprised face, shoving him angrily back on the ground when he tried to stand. He was shell-shocked and it seemed like for the first time, he understood where he was and what he was doing, as if he had just snapped back to reality from the trance that had begun when the numbers appeared on that screen. He was bathed in blood now, his hair plastered to his forehead in sweat and dirt, sticking to his skin from our fall. He looked like he had come out of a butchery and I was sure I did not look much better.

I left him sitting down, running back to where the curly-haired, District 4 boy lay motionless, covered in his own pure blood. His throat was torn open at a grotesque angle and the wound was so fresh that the blood was still warm and flowing even though he was already dead, his eyes blank. I could feel the slimy liquid on my hands as I knelt down next to him, feeling helpless.

My thoughts were so toxic that they were warding off my emotional anxieties though I was splashing around in a puddle of blood. I touched his curly hair with trembling hands, my other palm wiping at my face only to make it more bloody. There was nothing to salvage; the kid was dead, gone for good. Cato had killed him in cold blood without thinking twice about the alliance. Like he was going to kill Glimmer and me, like he was going to kill Clove. Nothing would stand between him and victory. Nothing but a few broken promises and betrayed fools that didn't know what hit them.

Cato appeared behind me, still not having recovered from his initial disbelief. He whispered my name again in pity when he saw me frozen in the bath of guts, reluctant to step up. When he realized I wouldn't pick myself up, he tried to pull me up from the mess I was mindlessly playing with, grabbing me by my armpits and dragging me away, leaving a trail of blood behind us as he set me on the grass, my back to his corpse.

I turned to him in fury. My hands stained completely with the child's blood transferred the wetness to his shirt as I kept pushing him back, wanting him to get away from me, hitting him in frustration hard enough to ease my guilt but not resolute enough to cause him pain. He eventually grabbed my arms, effectively stopping my tantrum, and now his face had gained the look of solemn understanding. I wanted to throw something at him.

He slowly wrapped his strong, deadly arms around me, halting my frenzy and pinning my arms down by my sides where they couldn't hurt him like they wanted to so badly. I didn't move to return the contact and he didn't expect me to but I had to resign, feel my body drop from the fury to a state of hopelessness.

"Stop. You're exhausting yourself. It's over now—no more," He murmured against my hair, lying through his teeth. It wasn't over. It was just the beginning and if I didn't pull myself together, I would be over. My life would end and I would have left nothing behind. I would be one of many, forgotten, never mourned because the people would be too busy celebrating the victor. I had to be the victor—I had to. So I had to stay strong. I raised my head to look at the blue of his determined eyes and then the blue of the sky, Gloss' voice soothing my nerves.

"He wasn't a threat. He was just a kid," I argued pathetically against his sticky shirt, my cheeks reddened by the blood, soaking it. He went one of his hands through his light blonde hair, staining it more than it was already. The stench of the bodies was starting to get to me and my stomach felt queasy. Nothing in training had prepared me for how it really was, how you really felt taking somebody's life.

"Just a kid," I whispered, defeated as he pulled away, sitting himself on the ground, urging me down with him, yanking on my twitching hand. We stayed there, side by side, watching the rest of our group come to terms with their decisions. I saw the two unexpected tributes that Cato had left alive, injured and looking like shit. I glared at the way the District 12 boy was eyeing our interactions. I didn't want to question Cato about it yet because I was just not ready to get my head back into strategy thinking. As I sighed, closing my eyes and shielding them with my forearm, trying to wipe the blood of my face, he placed his head in the middle of his knees, clutching his hair.

Though, I hated him for destroying my faith in the alliance, my heart hurt at seeing him so dejected. One of my hands moved to lightly tough his head and he turned towards me at the movement. I didn't move away even when his eyes threatened me to not touch him at this state. His entire body felt coiled up in tension.

I just looked at him with my eyes, letting him freely see my emotions without any barriers. I saw the multitude of sentiments go past his orbs, now that his shield had dropped long enough before he accepted my comfort and moved to lean, closer to me. His head settled on my lap and I continued to touch his dirty hair, not contributing any words, just gestures. He needed this time of respite after his feat today.

I knew Glimmer was watching us in confusion, cocking her head sideways at me, her eyebrows pinched. I saw Clove nod in agreement, mouthing 'thank you', and I could tell the one from 12 had inched closer to investigate our interactions. Something in his eyes told me he was way more than just a little curious. I stiffened when his light blue eyes drifted down my body to Cato's face.

"Fuck them," Cato muttered under his breath as his eyes squint shut for a second and I chuckled lightly, ruffling his crispy hair in agreement. Maybe I had wrong about the alliance, we did know how to be there for each other. It just wasn't in the ways that others expressed it. It was different because we were different.

We stayed in silence, him breathing slowly and me caressing his head, until they came to take the bodies and only after we heard the first cannon did we come back alive, standing up and regrouping. He took charge again, the front settling back in his eyes and his body moving to his usual tense posture. Clove looked fierce with her battle scars but I could see that she was not going to show them off yet; she looked shaken when she moved to stand beside me, lightly touching my sleeve.

Seeing Glimmer was all right eased some of my fear. Her cheek was bruised and her nose bleeding but she seemed cheerful, hugging me from behind. I couldn't help but think even in that state she looked as beautiful as ever. I had forgotten to pay attention to her throughout the entire time and I felt guilty. But knowing her, she probably ended up performing better than I. She was good at becoming a tool and removing all her thoughts and emotions.

Cato did a double take when he noticed her touchy position and I coughed uncomfortably, pushing her slightly aside to which she nodded in understanding, knowing we couldn't be like that as Careers. I didn't think she could tell how much her role as my sidekick bothered the blond leader. I could but I didn't yet understand. I assumed he wanted to get with her and I was the usual, ugly, cock-block ex. I had lived that role before—I had gotten beat up for it several times but gangs of boys in dark alleys. I didn't know how to best exemplify that I had no interest what-so-ever in her being mine again like that. She came to me and I thought all our interactions were on a friendly basis. I hated being involved into more of her love triangles.

Looking like we had been through hell, we counted the cannons.

Thirteen.

Eleven people left, eleven more lives to take, hearts to stop, dreams to crush.

But I knew if I wanted to survive in the Games, I couldn't think that way.

It was simply eleven more cannons.


	7. Beelzebub's Gula Part II

**Chapter 7 –Beelzebub's Gula**

**Part II/II**

Marvel's POV

"You enjoy this too much," I muttered to him, as we hurried to collect all the items into one big heap. He had turned back into his authoritative voice so I settled for my sardonic, devil's advocate one. It was a practiced routine now.

Both of us were jogging back and forth while the girls had started to set up camp. The lover-boy from District 12 was sitting down, sulking, I would assume, and licking his wounds. Cato had fucked him up pretty bad, his face sore and bleeding, his body collapsing in our circle. Glimmer had been the one to bandage him up sloppily as best as she could because when I stepped forward to volunteer, having had much experience in patching people up, Cato had made half-moon dents on my arm with his grip, making me flinch unattractively. I had seen the bloody blonde smirk as I slapped the leader's hand away with an 'Alright, sheesh.'

He didn't look like he was in pain so I didn't feel bad for him because I didn't like that he was here at all. I didn't quite understand why Cato had let him stay in the first place, seeing how utterly useless he was. They must have had some secret rendezvous to decide on that plan. I was annoyed at not having been in on it because I didn't like when decisions were made without me as if my input did not even matter. I wasn't jealous and I definitely wasn't scared of being replaced as second-in-command. I just wanted to be acknowledged but that was Cato for you, his word was law and we were his minions. I wanted to slap him at times but I would contain myself as long as it was necessary for my survival. Besides, I doubted the lover-boy would cause any problems.

The pile of food was getting incredibly high for my short stature and I did not believe that was the best idea in the world, knowing that since the other tributes needed food to survive, they would most-likely try to get it from here. But that was exactly what Cato expected them to do. That was what he wanted them to do: come running into his arms so he could slay their bodies open. It wasn't a bad strategy; I just felt strongly against the thought of grouping all of our necessities in one place but was reluctant to make my thoughts known, seeing as I was too exhausted by the day's events to argue against his decisions.

I settled for shoving some food and medicine in my personal backpack, knowing I was making it heavier but refusing to depend on the Cornucopia for too long. Gloss had told me to have an emergency backpack always at hand, hidden and supplied with food, knives, water and a sleeping bag, in case the Careers decided to stab me in the back and I had to make for the deadly forest. I cringed at the thought but didn't let go off the backup plan even when Cato wrestled me for it, tearing it out of my hands with a hostile remark: 'Don't be so stupid, 1'.

I had frowned at his mocking laughter, nevertheless asking for it back like a pouting child, as he held it out of my reach annoyingly. He had kept sprinting around with me on his heels even when Clove muttered for him to return it and Glimmer joined me in the chase much to his utter annoyance. When he had placed it dangerously over the fire, letting it smoke and burn, eyeing me daringly, I had bit my lip and let Glimmer drag me away with my tail between my legs. I had given up, stomping away from him with an insult, prepping another bag stubbornly, shoving the materials inside, glaring suspiciously at Cato's huffy self, standing next to the fire, munching on some beef jerky more aggressively than was necessary.

Clove had joined me midway, offering me some of her knives, as I thanked her after my initial startle. She had sat down next to me, sipping on her water and looking warily at the way the fire danced in Cato's cold blue eyes as he sat alone, playing with his sword.

"Don't hate him for it. He's scared. The last thing he wants running through his mind is the idea that you will leave him. I'm willing to bet he trusts you more than anybody here and now he's insecure," She had whispered with a saddened expression as if she thought I would leave too. I would never walk away from them. No matter how many bags he burned. It was just a precaution.

"I would never. I'm just…cautious. He doesn't have to worry," I mumbled back incredulous, earning a faint, genuine smile from her for the first time as she stood up, brushing off her clothes. It was as if she had come to double check and now she that she felt safe she could run off again.

"Tell that to him. He's the one that needs to hear it. I never doubted you for a second," She stated back, waving and leaving me, sighing, holding one of the water bottles in indecision. The bag mocked me and I looked at the sky towards Gloss, pouting and confused. The fake stars twinkled and the forest howled eerily.

When I stood up with the newly made bag to walk towards him, I hoped that Gloss wasn't too disappointed. After all he had been the one to advertise team antics and I had to follow my gut. The leaves rustled as I was met with the fire's warmth and he refused to look up until I dropped the unfinished bag in front of him with a crash. His face snapped up to my grinning one then and I gave him a simple shrug, dumping the plastic water bottle into the fire with a sizzle. He cocked his head in confusion, moving to part his lips but I beat him to it.

"Don't think you'll get rid of me that easily," I mumbled sarcastically, smirking a little and settling beside him with a thump. He pretended not to care, looking away, shrugging and muttering 'whatever', but his body relaxed and his legs crossed, his eyes frequently making trips to my form. I thought he wouldn't speak to me as I leaned back on my hands, my legs stretched in front of me, staring at the sky, wondering if I had made the right decision. Before I could doubt myself, he nudged me lightly, offering me the rest of the jerky with a small, one-sided smile and I thanked him, putting it in my mouth without having to rip off the part he had already bit. I had made the right decision.

Back in the present, he had caught on to my passive aggressive jab, grunting at me annoyed. The exhaustion was making us both grumpy.

"Oh, don't bother giving me that shit! Your hands are as stained as mine, incase you haven't noticed, little miss innocent," He droned back at me, annoyed that I was bringing up that dilemma again. He wasn't so lost now; he had shifted to a defensive attitude, the one he usually had against me when we verbally battled. But I knew I had chipped away at some of the wall that surrounded his heart because I could see him become physically more relaxed when it was just the two of us.

"At least my hands are stained by the _enemy_'s blood," I grumbled, regretting the statement as soon as it flew out of my mouth. I should not have been such a dick and I definitely should not have provoked him. His eyebrow twitched and he snarled, frowning at me for using that low blow, especially after we both knew that he had lost control without meaning too. I mentally slapped myself for trying to start a fight because deep down, I wasn't ready for one. He had entrusted me with that moment of weakness and the last thing I wanted to do was lose his trust.

"Wake up, dumbfuck. Everyone's the enemy. Only _one_ wins, idiot," He slurred back, still sounding upset about my previous comment, and I had started wishing I could take it back. I could tell the level of hatred he held towards me correlated with the amount of insults he blurted. Most of the time, the name-calling would slide off my back without doing any damage but at times like this, I knew he meant to hurt me, which made it worse.

On the other hand, I felt like if I didn't strain the importance of the event, he would do it again and the next time it would be one of us. I didn't want to be stabbed in the back when I had willingly offered him my backup plan. I feared being betrayed. Pack loyalty meant a lot to me and I had to stand up for my beliefs.

"Thank you, Cato, for that _brilliant_ observation," I retorted sarcastically, "Some of us thought we weren't hunting each other down until the very end." I could sense he was affected by my jabs because they were purposely aimed to challenge his sense of loyalty to the team and as a leader, I would assume he valued that. I felt him bristle, mouthing 'Stop' in warning.

"Is that so? Maybe I just want to live, you know? Maybe I don't feel as safe as some of us since I'm not expecting prince charming to come _rescue_ me whenever I don't feel like saving myself!" He snapped back, irritated that I was judging him. His last comeback stung badly and I was sure I was scowling deeply and pouting in anger.

He did not flash me a smirk though to anger me further; he just let the statement float in the open. I growled, warning him to back off that topic. He had somehow escaped from the corner I was pushing him towards and turned it around, nailing me to the wall by my hands. He drove me insane at times because he knew when to give me what I so needed and he also knew when it would hurt most to take it away. He was such a bastard.

"Shut up!" I grunted, trying my hardest to avoid walking back and forth at the same time as him. I knew I was being hypocritical, poking at his weaknesses but refusing to acknowledge when he flaunted mine. I also knew that it was unfair of me to accuse him of going against us when he had essentially saved my life, risking his. I felt guilty all of a sudden. The emotion was dangerous when you were dealing with Cato because he sensed it, like sharks sensed the smell of blood, and he went after it. He was manipulative like that.

I hadn't realized I had stopped in the middle of the route, a bag hanging loosely in my hands, until his hands landed on my shoulders and he turned me around to face him. It was dark and we couldn't see each other very well but from the look we exchanged, we acknowledged that we had both crossed the line; we seemed to be good at doing that.

He was staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face, analyzing me with his eyes. I knew every time he did that he blurted out something that did not simply touch the superficial conversations, he was looking to go deeper. He wanted to unravel me like a Christmas present.

He removed the bag from my hands and dropped it on the floor with no care. Knowing where the conversation was heading, I shivered in anticipation, looking away from him and towards the escape of the forest, until one of his hands forced me to face him again, directing my eyes towards his like Gloss always did when I hid. He was giving me no escape because now it was just the two of us. It was time for me to come clean.

"What happened back there?" he questioned softly and I stiffened, pulling away completely and facing the other side again. I knew he understood he had hit a soft spot but I didn't know whether he was about to use it against me and I didn't know whether I wanted to trust him with that information just yet.

I stuttered meekly, trying to figure out what I wanted to say. I heard him step closer to me and I felt his presence behind me, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body but not close enough to be touching. His hand touched the back of my neck, massaging it gently as he turned my face towards him one more time, insistent.

After a minute of standing there, speechless, looking at his curious face waiting in expectation, I closed my mouth and looked up at the sky, effectively closing the gap between us and leaning on his chest. He did not move away, being my wall for a second, and the hand touching my neck, dropped to my waist, pulling me closer for one swift moment as he kissed my neck quickly, squeezing me to his body.

He immediately pulled away after it, stepping aside and letting the air cool down once more. It happened so fast that I was caught off-guard at how rapidly our interactions progressed. It took me a while to understand he had even kissed me in the first place, his lips burning against my pulse, and when I faced him, surprised, he just gave me a cheeky grin, mouthing 'what?'

We had made it clear we didn't mind touching each other but somehow without either of us being aware, the contact had become more frequent and I couldn't blame him because I knew I desired it as much as he did. He walked towards that point of intimacy and I met him half way without hesitation. The more we made the trip, the more I saw myself wanting to stay there in that circle, hold him by the shirt to keep him with me.

The sun was setting but the stars had appeared long ago, creating a weird illusion that made it clear to us our world wasn't real. Gloss had once told me, when I was eleven and staring at videos of past Games, that every star represented a sponsor, waiting to give its light to someone. I had frowned suspiciously at that, counting them millions of times much to his amusement. I wondered what the time was outside of the arena. Was everyone watching us? They had to. Were my parents proud of me? Did my parents recognize me at all?

The anthem was heard and I flinched, wanting to step away but being held back by Cato's arms that kept me still and pointed towards the hologram in the sky. I shook my head, trying once more to turn around. The faces of the tributes we murdered would be displayed soon. Would I be able to look? That boy who had spared me would stare at me again with his black eyes. As they flashed in front of me, Cato counted in whispers with every face that passed through my hollow eyes, reminding me he was there and telling me that it was okay because they were dead, long gone. Midway through I joined him as we both realized we had correctly counted the cannons.

Thirteen.

The questions were still running through my mind when the sky darkened again but the haze that had settled there by Cato's vicinity covered them. I sighed heavily, shrugging. What would be the use in crying over split milk anyway? My mood had lightened and the previous dreadful thoughts could not bring me down.

"What scares you so much that you freeze?" He asked again gently, startled when I chuckled at him, half in relief and half in bitterness. He looked adorable when he was confused. He was so cute at the moment that I couldn't even imagine he was putting up all that show to get my weakness. I didn't want to doubt him but I didn't want to fuck myself over either.

"Do you want to destroy my entire sponsor-base?" I drawled lazily, smiling at him. The reality of having survived the first night having finally settled on me and I felt better even with the exhaustion crawling in my creaking bones. I needed to sleep but I was alive. I was not going to sleep forever.

"_Do_ I though?" he questioned lightly, smirking at me flirtatiously, "Let's think about that."

I rolled my eyes back at him, shaking my head, my cheeks warming up. It felt like our banter was filled with another type of tension; it excited and scared me all the way. He had relaxed into his playful side and I found it incredible how he could switch so frequently back a forth. One moment ago, he was angry and arrogant and the next he was back to the teasing and repartee that had become the norm for us. I could feel that the dynamic of the relationship had changed that night but I couldn't yet figure out how.

* * *

"Let's wash off and then get some rest," Cato ordered the group now that everything was set up, the tents standing and the fires blazing powerfully in the dead darkness. "We'll take turns."

A part of me couldn't wait to wash the blood off my hands completely, the cold water would help clear my mind before bed. The first night was always the worst and I was scared not only because I knew the black-eyed boy would murder me in revenge but also because I knew no matter how much I struggled and reached, I would not have Gloss there to break the nightmares. I didn't want to be seen at that state.

The other part dreaded the fact that Cato was going to be joining me because, knowing him, he was going to make me his entertainment. The moments that we spend together alone had been spontaneous lately and the possibility of anything new happening made my stomach flip.

The victory had clearly gotten him in a good mood because he was more easy-going with the pack and when he spoke, there was a tinge of pride in his voice that shined through his eyes too. I noticed that I liked seeing him satisfied and that the fact that he was happy right now almost erased my guilt of murdering all those innocent children whose parents were poignant and despaired.

The guys or should I say, Cato and I, went first with Clove ad Glimmer in charge of making actual dinner. I chuckled, shaking my head, at the thought of Glimmer's cooking. It seemed as if Cato already knew the two other members of our group would immediately reject the idea of being in a lake with him. The boy from District 3, Edan maybe, was sitting solitary next to the tent, analyzing one of the mines he had managed to dig up. Lover-boy as Cato had nicknamed the blond, a term I refused to use out loud was trying hard to patch up Glimmer's horrible job at his bandages.

Before I had the time to open my mouth in aid, Cato had slammed his shoe on my foot, smiling pleasantly and muttering 'Yes, dear?' I was too busy pursing my lips against the pain to say anything back though if I could it would something along the lines of: 'motherfucker'. Instead I opted for glaring at him, flipping the middle finger and limping away with mumbled 'ouch'-s. I heard the other boy giggle to my surprise before Cato shut him up with another threat, purring softly 'Shut your mouth before I hang you by those bandages'. In the end, I was the lone soldier who was up for any challenge as long as if guaranteed to take away the stench of dried blood.

As we neared the edge of the lake, walking in silence, the water seemed clean and the wind had stopped blowing so I prayed to god that it would not be freezing in there. We both stood there for a second, looking at the depths of it, our reflections wavering in the depths. Only once I saw myself, did I notice I had been subconsciously trying my hardest to scratch the dried blood of my cheek, irritating the few remaining stitches. I was sure I had developed a rash because my face felt warm.

I could feel his eyes on me and he eventually pulled my invading hand away from its assigned task, leaning down to murmur in my ear again, much like when we were fighting in the initial bloodbath. This time though I craned my neck instinctively making it easier for him and he did not let go of my hand, lightly tracing it and all the scratches it received from the struggle today.

"I think you look sexier with the blood all over you," He whispered roughly and I felt the goose bumps riding from my neck down my body, making my skin overly sensitive. In case I had missed the previous signals, his husky voice definitely drove the point home: he was flirting with me.

I blushed at the compliment but got frustrated with the context. It reminded me that he had no conscience at times. But as I looked at his grinning face, I knew it was hopeless to try and get angry with him. I was simply too flattered.

His hands went to the collar of his shirt as he pulled it above his head, talking simultaneously as his bulky hands slid out of the holes in the soiled shirt. His torso exposed in front of my eyes, every strong line of his built upper body dark in contrast. His pectorals were strong and his abs, defined like a turtle's shell. He flexed in front of me, smirking down sexily, before grabbing my hands roughly and placing them shamelessly on his strong stomach, solid as stone, letting me explore. My breath hitched, my mouth got dry as he leaned down, his hands pulling my face towards him so he could whisper again. I was surprised to note my fingers wouldn't budge from his physique

"I think you lied when you said Glimmer was the most good-looking. Is that your final answer?" He prompted slyly, his breath fanning my ear seductively. I chuckled airily, breathing again at the memory. Before I could stop myself, I wanted to prove to him I could play his twisted game. That was all he was doing, using me, and I wanted to use him back. My hands slid down to reach his pants, held up by a belt. He hummed in agreement, giving me more confidence in my actions, as I pulled him forward by said belt, his face almost touching mine, our noses millimeters away.

"My final answer was actually me," I whispered on his lips, winking at his dilated eyes and pulling away to take off my shoes. I didn't know how he would proceed but I had to turn away before I got to carried by the wave he had just produced with his insistent splashing.

"I completely agree with that," He purred, shrugging at my gaping mouth. He was on overdrive, unstoppable, and I could only imagine how fast the sponsors were scribbling on those stupid notes.

As I stood there bewildered, Cato did not hesitate to strip down to the bone and jump right in, leaving me there gaping and fully dressed. I had just seen his tight little behind and he did not seem to care much, instead concentrating on making sure his hair returned to its normal shade. His body was definitely more fit than mine and for a second I found those insecurities again. He was lying—he had to be. He was gorgeous; Glimmer dazzling. Everyone knew they were the hottest couple.

"Are you just going to stand there?" He stated at my hesitation, pouting, and I blushed faintly, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. He chuckled, swimming to the edge where he laid his chin on his arms and kept gazing at me, smirking. "Oh, c'mon. It's not like the entire world has not seen your sexy body before. We all know deep inside you're a little slut."

I stiffened at his words, frowning at the insult, but he didn't seem fazed by my stern look and instead continued swimming around. He was so fucking spontaneous with his emotional shifts that I barely knew what to expect next. I would like to think I was more consistent. The insult did remind me of all my other situations and it gave me the confidence I needed, knowing that I had been the one to first initiate the flirting and I could grab his attention if I wanted too.

I sighed, knowing that sooner or later I would have to give in because I couldn't stand the dirt sticking to my skin uncomfortably. I wanted to play though. I pretended to be nervous, moving slowly when peeling the shirt of my skin. I could feel him gazing at me from the corner of his eye and I gave him the opportunity to fully take it in pulling the shirt over my head to momentarily shield my eyes as I flexed my torso, my pants riding lower down my waist and exposing my happy trail.

He shifted closer because I heard the water ripple and, being able to look again, I saw he had completely turned around to enjoy the show. I smirked at him and he offered one in return, not backing down even when my hands worked on the belt buckled, freeing my pants as they dropped on the floor, revealing my tight boxers again. This time he bit his lip to contain his hiss. One of his hands went to wet his hair again and I could see his bicep flex in the moonlight. The showdown was getting too intense for my liking.

I saw him fidget to climb out and I startled at the idea, trembling hands touching the band of my boxers before I got rid of that last boundary, lowering myself in the water quickly, hissing at the cool texture of it. It was slightly cold but it felt refreshing to wash up.

As I started to scrub myself clean, I could see him from the corner of my eye, circling me and smiling in amusement. He had that look of the predator again and it was unnerving me. That would be the second time that day I compared him to a shark.

"Stop being a creep, 2," I muttered in a bored tone, showing him that he wasn't intimidating me, looking up at him in annoyance while he put on the most innocent face he could muster unable to hide the evil plot brewing in his eyes. He licked his lips and I gulped. I was getting wary.

"You say such mean things to me. Words hurt too, you know," He muttered back teasingly, entertained as he started to approach my incredulous self. He seemed to be able to touch the bottom of the lake, a feat I could barely manage, flailing. It made it easier for him to move around and in that second, it made it easier for him to get me cornered against the grassy edge where I was floating towards still keeping my eyes on him in case he decided to drown me.

I leaned backwards on it, placing my elbows on the soil, still maintaining my casual posture as he moved next to me, leaning on it sideways to be able to easily face me. His hair was wet and plastered to his forehead and his eyes almost luminous in the moonlight. He was still giving me one of his cheeky grins and I was terrified at what it meant, anxious in fear and anticipation. Underneath my nerves there was a spark of a challenge that I did not have time to acknowledge. I had underestimated how much his mood had lifted; I had never seen him this perky.

"Stop raping me with your eyes. I feel molested. People can't take baths these days without being stalked by hungry sex-fiends," I whined hysterically, smirking and sassy, sounding like a melodramatic virgin. I knew I was asking for it and by the way his gaze shifted momentarily to my lips, I must've been pouting a lot. He flushed at the sexual term but it wasn't in embarrassment. For some reason, I just couldn't take a step back when it came to him.

"Don't tell me you don't like the attention, my fair lady," He retorted back, ignoring my obvious trembling and the way I started to pull myself up, slowly as to not alert him, inching even closer and now our arms were touching. He was looking at me with glazed eyes and I stared back at him, trying to assess what he wanted to achieve. He looked good now that he was all cleaned up.

He interpreted my boldness as permission and now he was in front of me, trapping me to the edge with his strong arms, my body dropping down in the water again. My breath hitched at his closeness, our noses were almost touching and by the way my eyes half-lidded, I assumed by body wanted the contact without my permission. I had never been more conflicted about anyone in any situation. I could not interpret the look in his eyes. It was as if I was jumping into something unprepared and liking the feeling of adventure and mystery. It was thrilling.

"Am I the only blond to look at you this way?" He growled seriously, his hands breaking the ground a little as I flinched back in surprise, frowning at the question, my mouth snarled in confusion, my stomach dropping in dread. What the fuck was he talking about? "Touch you like this?" He continued probing, his eyes angry in an emotion I could easily identify at possessiveness. His hand moved to my neck, poking the fading mark hard enough to have me hiss in the subtle pain. I questioned his eyes in slight fear because his lip was turning white from his teeth as his eyes slid down my body where the water was surrounding us before he leant in, barking, "Am I?"

I startled when I understood what he meant, pushing him violently and splashing the angry look from his face with the water covering our naked forms. I couldn't believe he was bringing that filthy, controversial topic up in the arena where sponsors could hear, where _he_ could hear. I couldn't believe he was letting his demented thoughts come out of his rude mouth in the first place when he knew that could endanger Gloss.

I paled in fury and disbelief, wanting to hurt him, berating myself for losing my cool and letting him play me that far. My teeth bared at him and I jumped up, sitting on the ledge about to flee in anger. He coughed at the contact, spitting the extra water from his mouth, while I snarled when he caught my hand, dragging me back in place. His eyes were caught off guard.

"You're so _fucking _moronic! Don't _ever_ taint his name again in my presence," I growled, threatening him as I leaned on the ledge, his hand never moving from my forearm, his eyes more furious than before after the initial surprise at my outburst. I knew I was making it worse by protecting him like that but I couldn't sit aside. A part of me blurted sadistically that reacting that way only made people believe it. I sobbed in frustration, hating the instigator, who was floating in the water, calmly challenging me. It wasn't true! Why couldn't people back off from the only person I had in my life? Why couldn't they just leave him alone? He wasn't like that. He didn't deserve the perverted looks they sent his way. I had already almost lost him once.

"Just say 'no', okay? Just fucking deny it in front of me. That's all I need!" He screamed brokenly, yanking me back when I made to rise again. I slipped on the wet grass, landing on my side, grunting in frustration. Now I was on my stomach, my face inches from his betrayed one as he continued to stay in the water, one palm, grasping the edge in support. I wanted to scream again in revolt. I wanted to punch him in the face but his eyes were so hurt that I felt my lips move against my permission.

"It's not true. You have to believe me…" I whispered raggedly, hopeless at the face of his cynical eyes, accusing me of selling myself short. I would never look at Gloss that way and I needed him to understand. I expected his comeback; I closed my eyes at it but all he did was sigh heavily. I almost whimpered at the way his eyes softened, his grip disappearing, replaced by gentle caresses that slowly pulled me into the water again in between his outstretched arms, no longer shaking in fury.

"Alright. I do and I wont ever mention it again," He promised, murmuring against the shell of my ear, his hands coming up to hold me so I didn't have to swim, like I said he was taller. I might've flinched when his warm hands settled on my waist and I felt the rough texture of his fingers against my shivering skin. I honestly did not know what would happen next. Was this a ploy to get sponsors? Would this even work?

Having gone outside, the water seemed colder and I was shivering in his hands, afraid to reach out to him. The anger was draining and I was left with bitter memories.

My eyes snapped to his curious ones when I felt his hands slide down my body to rest on the back of my thighs. Using the sheer strength of his biceps he hoisted me up so I was sitting on the edge of the lake again while he was floating in between my legs. I couldn't help thinking that he was so strong and the way his muscles rippled with water running down his chest was a turn on. I didn't want to dwell on my inappropriate thoughts though because I was sure that was what he wanted, looking up at me suggestively. Everything that was running through my mind right now could not have been accurate because my brain was fogged up. He was driving the toxic thoughts away, replacing them with burning ones.

I could see his blue eyes travel down my body and rest on my hip. The moonlight had gotten stronger and I only assumed it was because the audience was as interested and confused about this interaction as me. I wondered what Gloss was making of this situation and if he had predicted this. I wondered what he thought about Cato's outburst. Was he mad that I was letting him off the hook that easily?

"When did you get this?" he whispered in interest, lightly touching his fingers to my hip, where the tattoo resided. I had forgotten it was even there for a moment but he was running his eyes over it in fascination, smiling lightly after having read the script.

It said: "May the bridges I burn, light my way." I had gotten it shortly after being torn away from my parents to become a tool for the Capitol. I did not particularly like remembering the back-story to that depressing memory but the phrase made me feel stronger, almost hopeful. In a way it was a permanent alteration that I had made to my body under my control. I remembered the day I got it like it was yesterday. I had loved the stinging sensation of he needle. It was almost liberating. I had especially loved Seneca's disapproving face and Gloss' impressed eyes.

"A while ago," I murmured, realizing he was still awaiting my answer his eyes never leaving the marked skin. My voice was so low that I was surprised he could hear me. He must have spotted my change in tone because he didn't push it. He didn't compliment it either, at least not verbally, but I could see he was impressed and by the way his tongue came out to wet his lips maybe a little turned on too. He placed his hands on either side of my legs, pulling himself up and my eyes lingered on his flexing abdomen, knowing how smooth it felt against my fingertips. My jaw clenched in desire. He was sexy. He caught my ogling, winking at me in response.

I tried to crawl back to give him room but he stopped me and I ended up, lying on my elbows on the soft grass, with him crouching on top of me, both of us naked and shimmering in the moonlight. One of his hands, moved towards my back, running gently up my side before lifting me close to his chest as he touched the middle of my back, whispering against my cheek, his voice husky,

"And this?"

My breath caught in my throat at his proximity and his closeness was warming up my wet skin that had gotten cold in the battering wind. His whole body was flexed in that position, taut and it was as if I could feel every quivering muscle. My hands travelled up his pronounced six-pack to his chiseled pecks because I was not going to be the only one molested in this situation. I could feel him holding back a groan at the contact.

"The day I got reaped," I murmured against his neck. His hold on me tightened momentarily before releasing again. His lips kissed the back of my ear and I might have scratched him accidentally because my palms flexed against his biceps, holding him in spot.

He did not speak up and did not move either. I could feel his warm breath on my cheek and I could sense his heart beat against mine. When he pulled back, I thought that he would make a move of any sort, but he just sunk back into the water, looking at me and smiling. It was the first time I had seen him give a genuine smile and I couldn't help returning it no matter how shell-shocked or disenchanted I was.

He looked down at my lap and the smirk returned. I knew our little moment had been broken and now we were back to our usual relationship. A part of me felt disappointed but the other half needed things to become understandable again needed the familiarity of our interactions.

"I see they missed a spot when they were prepping you," He wondered out loud, barely able to contain his chuckle and my face set aflame, pushing his head roughly under the water. When he managed to pop out again, spitting water in my general direction, I rolled my eyes at his immaturity.

"I did want to retain a fraction of my dignity, thank you very much," I explained myself and he snorted, moving towards the other edge and pulling himself out slowly, giving me another view of his behind.

"Watch and learn. Hairless and proud," He announced, turning around and displaying his nude figure to my eyes and those of the entire population.

Jesus, he was huge!

Jesus, what the fuck was wrong with me?

"That image is going to be burned into the mind of every nine year old in the country. I hope you are proud of yourself," I muttered, trying to avoid looking at his junk though it was hard when it was approximately on my eye-level. He had to be doing it on purpose.

He barked out a laugh as his grabbed his clothes and started walking back to camp, still naked, yelling back, "You, my sweetheart, are a hater."

When he was far enough for my brain to start activating again, I sunk down to my eyes, exhaling powerfully. The bubbles popped up in the surface and I kept thinking about how frustrated I was at everything that had happened today. Why did he have to be such a puzzle?

I startled when the parachute dropped in front of my eyes, jumping up with wet fingers to open it in joy. I found a raspberry-dark chocolate bar inside, begging for my attention, and I chuckled in glee, knowing it was Gloss who sent it. He used to give me one after every day of training I didn't screw up. It was a sign of accomplishment. It was a token that told me it was over at least for a little while; I could sleep safe that night. The card inside eased my fears, reminding me that no matter what happened, he would be there for me. I read it with a smile on my face, jumping out and following the naked blond back to camp. It wasn't over yet but I was holding strong and that was all that mattered.

"_If someone has enough courage to ask you a question seriously, then you should be brave enough to answer truthfully. I'm proud of you and you should be proud of him."_

* * *

I barely had any time to sleep before being shaken roughly by a pair of strong hands. I startled awake about to reach for my knife, still half-asleep before I remembered where we were. Getting up was painful, my eyes were trying to adjust to the darkness and eventually I could make out Cato, crouching in front of me with a serious look on his face. I calmed down slightly at seeing his presence but got nervous about what the reasons behind his being there were. He did not seem in the mood to fool around today.

"Fuck, man. You sure know how to gently rise people from their sleep," I mumbled, rubbing my eyes and yawning. Was it time to switch shifts? What was happening now? It seemed I had collapsed in exhaustion after nibbling through my chocolate in silence; I didn't even know how much time had passed.

"What is this? Initiation?" I grumbled again at his silence, trying to lighten the mood because he seemed upset and the change was worrying me I sat up, finally being able to look at him. He smirked at my comment before grunting, "Get up. We are hunting."

I moaned in disagreement, letting myself fall backwards on the sleeping bag as he stood up and exited the tent robotically, assuming I would be out there momentarily. I cursed him out a million times in my mind, stumbling around the tent to gather my belongings. My body ached from yesterday and I was pretty sure I was sleep deprived. I was amazed at how he could keep going. Had he even had any time to sleep? Last I remembered, he said he would be on guard first, arguing with Clove on something I had missed.

It was pitch black outside. Stepping out of the tent, I saw him standing there, waiting for me with his hands crossed. He looked like the warrior I had heard him be described as. The sword was clutched in one of his hands and the jacket hid his toned chest. He nodded in acknowledgement and by the dark shade of his eyes and the rings under them, I assumed my hypothesis was correct: he had not slept at all. I didn't know how safe it was to hunt with him in that foggy state. I was getting worried about our little expedition but something else in his face told me that he was the leader, unfortunately, and somehow he needed the air. He needed to prove something to himself but he couldn't do it on his own. Therefore, I would be there for him to help him out.

Keeping my mouth shut, I approached him and he looked at me longingly once, placing the jacket's hood on my head and helping me into a backpack. I gulped at him as he handed me my spear. I felt like a child being prepared to go to school but didn't protest. Him taking care of me was by far better than him trying to humiliate me, hurt me, or do anything else to me quite frankly.

With one last meaningful look that asked if I was ready, we headed towards the darkness of the forest, not knowing what was waiting for us there. As we moved further away from the camp, I saw Clove take his place at guard and assumed he had thought the entire detour through.

Something about the notion that we could be attacked at any time frightened me but I swallowed my fear because we were in the Hunger Games and if we were to be deserving of our title as the Careers, we had to cause a little trouble, shed a little blood, maybe get a little hurt.


	8. Lucifer's Superbia Part I

**Chapter 8 – Lucifer's Superbia**

**Part I/III**

Cato's POV

"Maybe we should retreat and hunt during the day?" he asked gingerly and I snorted at his pathetic suggestion, continuing to plow ahead with more zeal than before. I had not been able to sleep at all yesterday, my adrenaline too active, my mind to vivid. The hunt was the best way to solve the problem. I had to prove to myself that I was the strongest one here; I was the predator. I needed to convince myself that I wouldn't be in danger if I allowed myself minutes of sleep.

Ever since I saw him pack that bag in determination I couldn't let my stinging eyes remain shut for more than a few measly seconds. Every noise startled me, every shuffle made me want to run over to his tent, fling the opening back and check if he was still there. My mind was torturing me with morbid thoughts and at some point during the long, cold night I had actually convinced myself stupidly he would betray me. My body ached in pain and my mind cried in exhaustion. It was when I startled awake, finding myself face down on the soft grass, that I realized if I didn't make a move, I would pass out. So crouched by his side, dazed momentarily at the way his face was scrunched in pain against the sleeping bag, I made the decision to take him with, to have him prove himself. I wondered if he was dreaming and I reached for him, thinking I would wake him up before noticing I was merely caressing his hair away. I jumped back in horror when he mewled, shaking him roughly to make up for my unexpected weakness. I knew the forest would reassure me of his loyalty. Besides, the emotions usually were cut short when I was about to kill someone and with those gone, I could probably get some rest soon.

He was left to follow my footsteps, sighing. A part of me liked the state our relationship was in right now, the peaceful atmosphere, but another part knew that I couldn't be soft with him; I couldn't keep letting him comfort me because we were being watched by the entire world and those weaknesses could not be shown to the sponsors. They were paying to support killing machines, mercenaries, not doe-eyed babies who had to hug each other after each sin they committed.

I had to admit though that I liked his presence. I felt better with him by my side and everything just seemed simpler, easier, not as unsolvable. He kept me on my toes while simultaneously giving me a break from the agonizing pressure that all the Careers subconsciously put on me to lead them, protect them.

Then there was the lust aspect, the fact that the tension building up around us was slowly turning very much sexual. The fact that I had to tighten my entire body in a coil to make sure I could control my lower region whenever his hands trembled up my torso. I was attracted to him; there was no way to avoid admitting that part no matter how much my pride hated it. When I thought about touching my twitching self at night ever since we arrived at the Capitol, I bit my lip against the humiliation that reddened my cheeks when his face popped up in my mind instead of his partner's. I couldn't understand at first; there seemed to be nothing special about him. Then he slapped me that day, outside of Seneca's door, glaring in anger, and somehow, against my intention, that moment of pain turned into a sexual fantasy the following night as my mind screamed at his complex attitude.

I decided to blame my attraction towards the more aggressive, spontaneous affairs, the ones where I didn't know whether I was going to get pushed away or be pulled closer, whether I was going to receive pain or pleasure in response to my boldness. Marvel had that angle covered so well that at times I was blinded by how badly I wanted to try—try getting closer to his lithe form, let myself crave his lips, relinquish the iron-fist control I had to exert on my emotions. I couldn't yet though, the costs didn't outweigh the benefits, because I needed to keep my image. My irrational side reminded me that it was most likely because I was scared of the fall. I had spent all my life, climbing higher into the solitary mountain and now looking down, I froze at how scary the pit looked.

The ground crackled beneath us eerily as we continued our path and I reminded myself to keep my sword close. It was too dark to distinguish anything in the area. I doubted the other tributes where hunting on the first night but I couldn't let myself get comfortable. Something, hopefully not someone, shuffled in the shadows and I stopped short, eyeing the area carefully. I was squinting, trying to magically develop night-vision but my eyes were betraying me; they didn't even want to be open. I was fighting a losing battle against my exhaustion. Even if I wanted to give up, I would have to admit my weakness to the whole world, to Marvel, and I couldn't do that because he looked up to me. He was counting on me to be his protective shield and if I were anything close to a normal human being, he would lose that view of me and have nothing to hold on to. I had to stay strong, unbreakable in the face of destruction.

I felt Marvel inch beside me, having sensed the movement as well, close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his body. His eyes were roaming the trees and he was biting his lip. For a moment he seemed so small and vulnerable that I had to grab his forearm and pull him closer, stepping in front of him to shield him from potential harm. If he had any complaints, he did not voice them and stayed put as we waited to see if we were being ambushed. Since I dragged him out with me, I felt responsible for his life. That was all I felt I tried to convince myself, knowing fully well that it wasn't responsibility that was driving my impulses in the bloodbath or by the lake.

I didn't know what that emotion was and had no time to figure it out yet. The arena would eventually strip me of all my emotions so I didn't worry about the newly lingering one. I would give that up too like I had left everything behind for the win, volunteering.

I knew I had gotten attached. I knew what that bond looked like. I knew that reality ever since the day he showed up behind my door, beaten to a pulp by my stained hands, and managed to make me feel guilty for every punch I had thrown. He had made me feel like a monster for the first time in my life though I had transformed into one long before then. I knew that the moment I had removed his blindfold in the torture chamber, the moment I had felt him tremble at the cornucopia. I was beginning to care and it was scaring the shit out of me.

A squirrel jumped out of the bush, grabbing a walnut and racing up the nearest tree upon spotting us. I rolled my eyes, lowering my sword and Marvel visibly relaxed, running a hand through his messy hair that had dried in weird angles from his sleep. I could see his hands were slightly shaking. He couldn't do it for much longer though he had gotten a couple of hours to sleep—

But he had to! I reminded myself that I should not allow my judgment to be clouded by emotions. That was a weakness, one that was becoming increasingly frequent those past few hours. We were in the Hunger Games, the cruelest form of torture ever invented, and if a little darkness scared the District 1 tribute, we were in big trouble when the big guns would be pulled out.

I found it curious to see how easily he had broken down yesterday at the bloodbath. It had worried me and it had definitely affected my performance because seeing him in danger, that boy about to cut his throat open, had sent me into animalistic frenzy. I wanted to know what was going on in his head that made him hesitate that much because if I knew I could account for that in my plans. I wanted to understand why he lost the cool composure that he had perfected throughout his whole life. I wanted to hear his thoughts, see the memories that flew past his eyes when they glazed over in severe panic. Nevertheless, I doubted he would entrust me with that information, his ultimate weakness. He knew as well as I did that the knowledge could become lethal when it was time to hunt each other down.

A part of me wanted him to trust me. Ever since he had started to show me those little hints that displayed he felt best with me, I couldn't stop myself for needing more and more of his affection. That part of me was insanely delusional and idiotic. That part was the same part that was agonizing over his wellbeing every time I saw him shift from his pompous self to his quiet persona. It was the same part that was trying to protect him at the moment, shield him with my own flesh and blood. It was that fucking annoying part, hiding in the back of my mind and only being able to break free when I had the least control.

As I stepped away from him, I did not offer any words of comfort, instead opting for giving him some time to compose himself. I didn't want him to get used to my presence because he had to be strong even when I wasn't there to pat him in the back. I couldn't condition him to come running towards me whenever he was in danger. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't condition him against the principles he had been taught by the Capitol because unfortunately those repulsive attitudes would be his saving grace in the arena.

When I saw he was ready to follow me, I started at our former pace again. A nagging sensation in my gut was telling me I had to push harder to make him understand. I had to trigger his aggressive side.

"Marvel, please do try to avoid being a pussy in my vicinity," I muttered, not looking back to see his expression because it was getting tougher to keep a straight face in front of his honest eyes. By now I could probably imagine it with no problem. He was hurt; he felt betrayed. He hated when I grabbed his moments of weakness and dangled them in front of him and the entire world to see. He hated when I supported him with my entire body only to move away too quickly, dropping him on his fragile knees with no warning. I couldn't believe I had actually done it in the blood bath when I could feel how hard he was leaning on me. Between the cruel slaughtering of innocent children and the sadistic joy of shedding blood, the moment he wobbled for the floor was the part of yesterday I felt most like an asshole.

The psychotic part of me tortured me with his broken eyes but the rest of me knew it was necessary if I wanted to keep my intimidating role as a ruthless leader. It was vital to his survival that night and I would just have to live with the consequences that would be his eventual distancing. It had to be done and I couldn't regret it because there was no possible future for us. We had reached the border and as much as I strained my neck to see the other side, my feet had started to edge back.

"I get enough of that from the girls," I spread out the insult to all of the pack so that made me feel better but he was not appeased with my rationalization. I couldn't imagine he could be. Even in my statements I was fighting myself, a part knowing I had to verbally attack him to get him riled up when the other part was trying to soothe the situation before he got to that stage.

"If wanting to live establishes me as a pussy—"he started coldly and I could see the glimpse of the fire building in his eyes, contrasting the attitude he was putting up at the moment. That was the reaction I was looking for and the peaceful side had to raise the white flag so my provocative one completely took over. It was too late to go back now.

I forced a smirk, not facing him yet, trying to plan out how to approach this. I had to poke certain areas, enough to get him ablaze without burning to ashes. I wanted his competitive side without awaking his belligerent side too much.

"Stop right there," I interrupted rudely and he shook his head in disbelief, pursing his lips in agitation and physically stopping. I stepped in front of him, close enough that our height difference caused him to look up to me, symbolizing the alpha male mentality we had going on. He flexed in anticipation, glaring at me, not backing down. The transformation between his happy face and his angry face was major. Personally, I preferred the angry one much better but the sponsors rarely agreed with me. The happy one made me want to smile and I felt disgusted at myself every time I realized I did from the look in his green eyes.

"Please do not speak from now on," I commanded with a superior tone and I saw him bristle before I turned around to charge forward again, dismissing his parting mouth rudely. I didn't trust myself to finish the job if I did not step away from his aching eyes and his swollen lips. I heard him clench his fist so tight that his knuckles cracked but I knew he was too drained to physically charge me. I would use that knowledge to my advantage because I was an asshole and I didn't deserve his loyalty yet I wanted it so badly.

"We've been doing this for hours," He complained with a shaky voice, persistent and the tone of his statement gave away how testy he actually felt. He was agitated and deep down he was scared because now he felt alone again—I hated myself for doing that to him.

I found it unbelievable that he feared the arena, seeing as he was educated since he was just a child by the best the Capitol had. He had been taught all the tips and tricks. He had been through harsher training than all of us Careers put together. Why could he not see that he was the most prepared to take it on? What was holding him back from being the smart, brilliant boy I had seen him be? I just wanted to break that barrier with my bare fist so he could let loose.

"Not a word," I continued pushing his buttons, in an attempt to get him out of this trance. I felt a tinge of guilt so heavy, tickling the surface of my skin and settling like a weight on my body at hearing the fatigue in his voice before it was overshadowed by my need to see the strong him resurface again. I was so conflicted and I was starting to get frustrated, searching for a way to fix both of us at the same time.

"We have yet to stumble upon anyone—_please,_" He continued to argue because that was the only thing he knew how to do when attacked. He was rambling and shutting himself off from the world to avoid any of his fragile emotions from making an appearance. His supplicating grated my skin like a knife and my breath caught in my throat at the raw emotion behind it. I was so angry with myself that I had to project it onto him if I didn't want to self-destruct.

I thought he had gotten over this phase of trepidation. I thought I had made him believe in my capabilities at least. Even if he did not believe in his strengths, hadn't I proved to him that I could handle anything thrown at me? I was starting to think I had failed him and the thought was making me irate. He kept rambling and I had stopped listening to him after the whispered 'please' because my head ached, splitting my skull, my eyes burning against the flashlight.

"Marvel! Shut. The fuck up!" I snapped before I could control myself, trying hard to keep my voice down in case I alerted nearby campers. He flinched slightly, startled and furrowed his brows, but made no immediate attempt to say anything back, lowering his eyes. That I did not like at all. It was not like him to submit so quickly. He usually had more dignity than that. He fought harder. He was not scared of me. Somewhere in my approach I had miscalculated because instead of wanting to overthrow my authority, he was just becoming passive. I was starting to frighten him without meaning to or wanting to. I was desperate to reverse my mistake.

I grabbed his face, forcing him to look at me in the eye and he gasped, squirming and fighting me until I shushed him down. I saw a couple of emotions brewing in those seas: he hated me for putting him down, he despised me for pushing him to his limits but above all he needed me to acknowledge him as equal. As we stared each other down, he knew I could see everything and the knowledge made his eyes misty with desperate determination. As much as he wanted to avoid my demanding bullshit, he was trapped. I had trapped him in the middle of the forest.

I released him more gently, knowing he wanted me to let go but I didn't inch away. Once again I was left without a choice but to listen to the crazy part because lately it seemed to have all the solutions. "Ten seconds" I mentally whispered to myself, to that hated part. That was all the time I was allowing it to turn everything off and take control. That was all the time it needed to shed some light because I wasn't getting anywhere with his stubborn stare.

Ten seconds.

I raised my hand again that time placing it on the side of his neck and inched forward gently touching our foreheads. He questioned me, confused, clearly not knowing what to do. We didn't say anything as we continued locking eyes and breathing in unison. I opened the gates to my eyes enough for him to see that I was just trying to help him, that I was never going to let anything happen to him no matter how harshly I pushed him around, that I was there and I cared.

He did not make an attempt to reciprocate my touch but the light blue sparkle returned to his eyes and I could feel the pulse in his neck slow down from the turbulent drumming to a serene beat. My heart was doing just the opposite and I felt light-headed because he was so close and my mind was so free for the first time from the restrictive boundaries.

He was there under my touch, allowing me to proceed, and the desire was making me drowsy like the wine that Brutus sipped during dinner. His eyes drifted down to my lips and I panicked because I felt the last shreds of control slip from my fingers delicately before—three more seconds of him—I closed my eyes, made a compromise with every side of my mind, and moved to kiss him lightly on the forehead, mouthing "be strong" against his soft skin. It was as if the words were our little secret because I doubt the cameras managed to get that. I'm sure they got everything else though and time would tell how our relationship would affect the parachutes dropping from the sky. Were they mad I was taking away their star, altering him and making him look weak? Where they fuming at how I could get Marvel to solely look at me?

The time was up and I pulled back borderline violently, pulling up all my walls and avoiding his disappointed eyes, starting to move forward again. I cursed myself for letting my guard down like that on TV but I knew by now that I needed those moments if I did not want to go insane. If that lost me some sponsors, fuck them, I would make it on my own.

I thought I had soothed the situation and therefore my festering guilt but I had apparently abandoned my confident, arrogant side and it came back with vengeance because before I knew I had spoken, I had fucked up all progress again.

"Now, keep up or get back to camp. I'm tired of hearing you whine like a bitch," I muttered solemnly, regretting my harsh words but knowing they were essential. That time it seemed I had hit jackpot because he reacted appropriately. Offering him my ten seconds of control had rejuvenated his fighting spirit.

His eyes went back to the stormy green he had adopted in the training room and he snarled aggressively, pushing me aside and marching ahead. I thought I heard him murmur something but didn't quite catch it so I shrugged, smiling sadly to myself when he started to move more confidently through the woods.

The sacrifice had to be made. I had tried the easy way out and it could have worked but I wasn't ready to risk it. I wasn't ready to gamble with anything. I needed guarantees. I went for the rough way because I had been taught that way always worked. I would let him take the lead because it was much better than having to drag him behind but I wouldn't let him get delusional about who controlled the situation, even when I momentarily lost track of that small fact myself.

* * *

Returning to the Cornucopia I admit was painful physically and mentally. My back ached from carrying the heavy backpack, my feet were protesting against the rough, uneven ground of the forest and though I would never say it out loud, my arms were sore from constantly holding my sword. I was developing a hunger headache amongst other aches. It wasn't such a good idea to go hunting the first night out. Another statement you would not catch me divulging.

I couldn't imagine Marvel was doing any better, seeing as he had retreated to the back of his mind and not spoken a word to me since our little altercation. His endurance was formidable, had me paling in fear and sweating in pressure, because he had kept up with the pace, challenging me to physically surpass him. He had also had a couple of hours to sleep though. We took turns leading through the shrubs, depending on how frustrated we were at not finding any clues. He did not complain when I decided our path, having been used to my leadership by now.

We had eventually fallen into an acceptable state of indifference though I was craving our back and forth banter. I feared that I had scared him back to his shell, crumbling all the progress we had made between my fingers. Needless to say I was trying to find a way to mend the situation without having to bruise my pride.

The solitary atmosphere did not do wonders for my nerves and I grew impatient to the point of glancing sideways at him every minute or so expecting something, anything to come out of his mouth. It was as if he was sleepwalking. His eyes were so glassy, always staring ahead, and he never gave me the chance to silently question his wellbeing—not that I would anyway. I might've.

He had allowed me to touch him, balancing him the times he stumbled on roots and pulling him in certain directions when I felt his focus was drifting. I had frantically yanked him up when he had slid down an incline, landing on his ass with a grunt. He had not thanked me then and he had not reacted to any of my exploratory touches. He had not even tensed, which backed up my assumption of his zombie-like state. It left me confused to see how he had not even noticed his hands were bleeding profusely until he latched onto my shirt in recovery once, leaving a trail of red blood in its white material. He had stared at it fascinated before opening his palms and I had cursed under my breath, cleaning them with water as he didn't even blink in pain at the stinging I knew he must have felt.

I understood gravely that it was over when he had fallen on his knees after tripping because he had stood up without hesitation though his knees were scraped and bleeding, splinters on his dirty skin. It was as if he did not even feel pain; it was scaring me. He had perfected his hiding technique so well that not amount of physical hurting could get him to reveal himself. I shuddered thinking about how they had instilled that into him. Probably the way I was doing it right then, pushing him to continue without giving him any other choice.

The moment I saw myself compared to them, I felt nauseated. I knew I had crossed the line and needed to get him back. I almost wanted to pick him up and carry him there just to ease my conscience. I knew he wouldn't let me though considering I had burned his pride to shit with my actions today.

Seeing the edge of the forest ahead, I slowed down until I stopped just out of sight from the others. He walked a little further before understanding my intentions and halting.

I knew I needed to compliment him some way or worse _thank him_ for joining me. I knew I needed to apologize, fix things, fix him. I knew I needed to get him back to me. That much was clear but I couldn't get my pride and tongue to work out a compromise so we ended up standing there, me clutching the sleeve of my jacket and him swaying slightly from exhaustion, his eyes blinking slowly. I cursed myself for being so bad with words but I decided that he contributed to my disability, seeing as I never knew how he would react to anything I said.

"Can we not do this right now, please?" he muttered, annoyance shining through his tone. I snapped my mouth shut, telling myself not to get touchy at how he purposefully accentuated my moments of failure, subtly mocking me about them. I was sure that he was not doing it on purpose at the very moment because he did not seem in shape for our usual confrontations. I realized he had returned to his normal consciousness and that was all I needed so I allowed him to come at me with his passive aggressiveness.

"Yeah, okay. You're right," I acceded softly, trying to make amends, but he turned around, walking away from my fallen face. On that sour note, we got out of the forest, returning to the base where I still spotted Clove, sitting outside and preparing a meal. She must have not allowed another person to replace her. We were too much alike. The first rays of sunlight were hitting the meadow and I couldn't tell if the night had been longer than necessary. It had been long enough for me.

Clove acknowledged our presence but didn't speak, noticing the dismal look in our faces. She merely pointed towards the unoccupied tent and I moved towards it, aware that Marvel was still following me. I assumed the other three were sharing but realized I was wrong as I observed the sleeping figure of the District 12 lover-boy, cuddled up in one of the sleeping bags. I was momentarily mesmerized by how easily he trusted us with his life. He seemed so peaceful, so vulnerable. It sort of made me want to disrupt that calm.

I must have stared for too long because Marvel pushed through me, shoving me forward as he made for one side of the tent. I looked up at him stunned by his boldness but was met with a hateful scowl that left me wondering about what I had done to deserve it. I sucked at manipulating this boy's emotions because nothing I did went the way I wanted it to go.

For a moment, simmers of jealousy flashed through his eyes before they were covered with his top as he undressed in front of me, revealing his lean torso. The nakedness seemed to be his go-to attention strategy and that fact amused me to no end. It was surprising that it had not gotten stale yet; he still managed to work it perfectly. He could be a little minx when he wanted to. I just wished he wanted to more often because with that side of him, I seemed to never go wrong.

Automatically as if by instinct, I found myself sweeping my eyes along his body for the sake of sizing him up. At least that was what I told myself. I thought it was interesting that he would use such slutty measures to attract my attention, but a part of me found that extremely alluring. He always managed to get me to focus solely on him no matter what the circumstance was. I had to give him credit.

Enjoying some sense of competition after that long silent treatment, I decided to risk stealing his strategy as I swiftly removed my own shirt to hide that temporarily sense of insecurity that had sneaked up on me by boosting my ego through his reaction.

It was his turn to stare but he composed himself much quicker, rolling his eyes and offering me one of his cheeky smiles. As soon as I saw his signature smile light up his face, I felt as if he had forgiven me for whatever he was hating me for and a weight lifted off my shoulders, a burden I didn't even recognize was there until now. He had officially returned to me and I knew it would be short-lived with our tempers but I couldn't stop myself from enjoying it. I grinned back, stepping out of my pants and crawling into my sleeping back before we had time to start a battle that would not be appropriate while sharing a tent with lover-boy. He slumped into his sleeping bag and I heard him sigh in content before drifting into sleep.

"If you're worried about them stabbing you in the back, I won't let them," I whispered silently, biting my lip at his hesitation, turning my back towards his sleeping bag and staring at the shadows of the trees moving outside. I heard him shuffle a little before his sleepy voice replied, soothing my frantic nerves. I knew I was being childish in trying to keep him up but I couldn't help it.

"I won't leave, Cato so sleep tight, okay?" He mumbled, yawning immediately after and I let myself smile faintly because nobody was looking. I was safe in my sanctuary, covered up to my nose.

"Alright."

* * *

Unsurprisingly, that night I had nightmares. I saw flashbacks of all the life-less faces of the children I had murdered today, their bodies crushing under the weight of my sword, their dead corpses spilling their contents on the soiled grass. I saw that moment of realization in their faces, the second before their last breaths when they had their epiphanies, when they understood just how cruel this game was. I pictured all of them in their nice suits and extravagant dresses, waving to the fans that squealed and pointed when they saw the tributes get murdered brutally, slain in half, slaughtered beyond points of recognition. I saw my pack die, I saw Marvel, lifeless and bleeding in my arms. I heard my screams and I felt the searing pain cursing through my veins to alert the brain that it was the end when I felt myself die.

When I woke up panting and sweating, I did not look to see who was around me. I noticed it was still daylight and I rushed outside to ease my anxiety with water. I stumbled upon Clove who gave me a pitying look that resembled something along the lines of "you too?" and I splashed water in my face, trying to eliminate the fragments of the dream embedded in my memory. She had not changed shifts, which alerted me to the fact that I had not slept at all. I had expected that would happen to me and that was why I had avoided sleep for as long as I could. Call me a coward but I was scared to face them again when I didn't have control over my body. Dreams could stick with you for a very long time, attaching themselves to the back of your mind and slowly festering.

Entering the tent again, I leaned against the entrance, wondering if Marvel was experiencing the same nightmares. He had covered himself up to his head, with a tuft of his blonde hair being the only visible part of him. I could only assume why but I didn't disturb him further because I felt guilty about yesterday. The effects of our last hunt were taking a toll on my body but that meant nothing. We would have to go out again tonight and the next time show no mercy.

For the first time, I wished that I could see his face if only for a split second. He seemed to be the only person that could make me forget about my sins, calm me down, teach me to forgive myself for crimes that others would never forgive me for.

With one last glance at Clove's shadow reflected on the tent, with one last glare at the camera set up beside it, I sat down next to Marvel's sleeping form, leaning back on his backpack. I trusted him—I did. It wasn't about precaution; it was about me needing the vicinity. I closed my eyes, praying I would be able to get some rest because I would need it if I were to keep our pack together.


	9. Lucifer's Superbia Part II

**I realize that everyone who has this story or me on their alert lists, will get this update. I want to reinstate that this is not a new story. This used to be my first creation "Equal Grounds". It has been polished, reworked and added on to create "Eternal Damnation". The updates will continue for 11 more chapters as I am only reworking them. If you wish to give it a chance, proceed to chapter one. If not, delete every notification that you might get in the upcoming few days.**

**I repeat the story in itself is complete but the chapters online are only the first nine. I will continue to update it to its final point, Chapter 20, as soon as I have the next one ready. The ending has not altered but the chapters have lengthened substantially and been divided appropriately. The word count by the end of this journey will have increased by 50% from the original one.**

**I feel like this story doesn't get as much love as my other one and I had to give it another chance. I had to perfect it in case people were bothered by the writing. Hopefully, it will become like its sister, WTSSE.**

* * *

**Chapter 9 – Lucifer's Superbia**

**Part II/III**

Cato's POV

Walking swiftly towards the fire we spotted in the middle of the night, prowling through the dense forest, had raised my adrenaline and eased the soreness that I felt from the first few long and uneventful days in the arena. The weather had gotten shittier than expected and I had decided to let the others take a day off when I had emerged from the tent the next afternoon, sleepy and lethargic, to witness a shaking Clove and a drenched Marvel, keeping guard outside, their hair matted to their faces and their eyes squinting against the pouring showers. They were sulking towards the poorly covered supply stack, both squeezing snacks under their shiny, wet jackets, the hoods tightly wrapped around their heads.

As much as I wanted to ease their suffering, I knew we had to keep guard so I settled for sitting beside them, pulling up my own hood and sighing against the wetness squishing against my bum. I suggested Clove cover with one of the sleeping bags but she had snapped that we needed those to sleep after which comment I had glared at her attitude, ignoring her for the rest of the day, prowling around the open meadow, hands on my waist.

Gloss, alongside the sponsors, had sent Marvel a brand new, baby-blue wind-breaker jacket that he threw on without much enthusiasm, giving his old one to Clove who yanked it from his hands angrily, stomping away. I assumed she was bitter, the rain not doing much to alleviate her mood. To make up for her killjoy persona, I had complimented Marvel, telling him he looked good though I could tell he didn't care, his will as shattered as my partner's. In actuality, they should have sent a snorkel because the rain didn't stop for two days in a row, the wind knocking over our tents constantly and soiling a good amount of our supplies. A fire was out of the question so snacks had become the norm. I couldn't stand the smell of beef jerky anymore.

Glimmer gave up complaining about her frizzy hair, Clove caught a cold, her nose running insistently, and Marvel moved closer and closer to my worried, restless form with every night the thunder clapped outside. I thought about the other tributes before realizing the forest trees were protecting them. I couldn't understand why the Capitol was handicapping us.

This night though, the rain was long gone and the heat had returned. We had dried off, finally being able to look at the sun again. The fires had started and I could only smirk when I heard Marvel jump up excitedly, pointing at the smoke with a grin on his face. He was ready.

All of us were rejuvenated at having an actual lead and possibly an actual kill tonight. Clove was beaming close to me and Glimmer had gone through great measures to make sure we were 'accidentally' touching each other frequently. I huffed, trying to get her to understand I was annoyed, but I didn't push too hard because I would rather have her leeching on me than on what was supposed to be mine.

Marvel was the happiest I had seen him since the gong had gone off. He was openly grinning and almost bouncing with every step he took towards the fire. He was leading us through the forest and I followed him willingly like a parent follows a squealing child in a playground. I found it refreshing to see him so active after all those hours of him staring into space dejectedly, pulling out the wet grass with his fingers. The sun must have had its effect because it seemed like he was back to his arrogant self. It almost gave me the energy to match his enthusiasm through the maze despite my pain. I still had trouble sleeping, mostly because Marvel usually took guard when I entered the tent. I found myself twisting and turning, waking up covered in cold sweat before giving up and sitting next to him outside. I knew he was worried and Clove was too, frequently breaking my balls about it with her stern tone.

The only one I was really worried about was the District 12 boy who was following us silently with a disapproving look on his face. I didn't quite trust him yet and I didn't really want to let my guard down around him. He seemed harmless for now after the beating I had given him but I didn't think he would be one of us for too long. We just needed to use him to locate the girl and then kill him before he did anything significant.

He was smarter than he appeared, subtly watching us interact and secretly pinning us against each other with whispered comments and sly looks. I had been close to threatening Marvel, pushing him up against a tree when spotting him making conversation with the blonde, to never be around him again if he wanted to be on good terms with me before I noticed how idiotic that sounded. I had spent that night, berating myself to the point of insomnia.

It wasn't long before we spotted the burned out fire and the sleeping form of a girl from one of the random districts, it was probably 8 could have been 9. She was oblivious to our presence and I rolled my eyes at the sheer ignorance that some of the tributes displayed, falling asleep in the open, building a fire in the first place.

It was best to clean the place from the weak ones so it became a real fight for us actual contenders. I looked around the group in amusement, earning sly chuckles back, as if deciding whom to pick to perform the prestigious ritual and I could see in Marvel's desperate eyes he had long ago decided it would be him.

So I stepped away from the girl, instructing everyone to move back and give the killer some space. She must have been a light sleeper because she heard our shuffling and her eyes opened slightly to land on my retreating back and Marvel's devilish, curious eyes. He greeted her, smirking towards me, and she bolted on her ass, scanning the forest line in helplessness. Having admitted her fate, she screamed in fear, her voice piercing, crawling backwards, begging for us to spare her.

She was young and probably innocent, unaware of the brutality of the game. Even if we did spare her, somebody else would kill her eventually. She would not make it because she had absolutely no survival skills.

I sighed, turning around and walking towards the clearing. The others looked at me in confusion, shocked that I would actually honor her begging. Marvel's face visually fell and he was glaring at me as if I was being unjust, taking the opportunity away from him. I didn't know why he wanted it so badly but I assumed it was to prove himself worthy. The quieter he was during the day, the more inhumane he became during the night. He and Clove were alike in that aspect.

"Make it quick, Marv," I announced lightly, still walking away, not even bothering to shield my back from the enemy tribute. I didn't miss the way his eyes turned soft, thanking me. I nodded back, not in the mood to attempt the tedious task that was smiling. Hunting had lifted my spirits momentarily but realizing it would be so easy destroyed the previous excitement.

Everyone finally got the cue, inching towards my impatient form. Clove giggled slightly—I wasn't sure if it was at the idea of blood or the fact that I had slipped up that nickname.

She gave Marvel a small pat in the back, squeezing his arm lightly, before taking my side. I didn't understand their relationship because they didn't interact much but they looked like they knew each other much longer than a few days. Glimmer attempted to say something intelligent—failed miserably—but at least attempted as she moved away with a soft squeeze of his frame. I was appalled at their gestures. It wasn't like he was going to war and they would never see him again. He was going to kill a little girl and run back in less than five minutes. I growled my orders to rush the blonde bimbo over and the last thing I saw was the look of guilty euphoria on Marvel's face and the look of utter terror on the little girl's.

Even if we did not have to eliminate all the other tributes, I thought for a moment that just the look of happiness on Marvel's face would make the kill worth it. That idea was a disturbing not only because it was twisted and morbid but also because it involved emotions and Marvel in the same sentence. Because it hinted at the suspicion running through my head, the one I refused to acknowledge. I was starting to have real feelings, pure feelings associated with him.

I didn't have to walk far to hear the agonizing screech that the girl let out when the spear lodged into her bosom. I paused on my tracks as Clove's petite frame bounced off my aching back and into the ground with an annoyed 'hey'. I looked back towards the dark path we had just came out off, seeking his curly-blonde hair in the midst of the ominous shrubbery. I couldn't hear anything; it was so silent that my stomach started to get queasy with the wait, my eyes darting back and forth anxiously, my hand moving to my belt, my finger trailing the cool hilt. Where was he?

I stopped breathing, Glimmer screeched.

I felt his body ram on top of me before I had the chance to pull out my sword and I thrashed violently, pushing him off, snarling wildly in pain. My stomach bruised at the impact, his weight slamming me against the floor, my backpack hurting my back on the fall. I flailed, seeing red in anger, grabbing for his throat only to touch his soft curls. My blue eyes widened at his giggle and I sat up, staring at his bloody face, grinning down at me like a Cheshire cat from his position on my lap. I was at loss for words whereas Clove barked in laughter on the background.

"Boo," He blurted innocently, blinking at my incredulous face, and I smacked him across the face hard enough to make him grab for his cheek but light enough to not spill blood. The droplets on his face had my heart skipping a beat until I rationalized that it belonged to somebody else.

He rolled off me, releasing my shaking frame and crouching on the floor in pretense pain, his eyes still twinkling in bliss. I wished I had hit him harder, hard enough to teach him to never do that again. I had been worried, concerned about his fucking stupid face and there he was giggling and playing games, mocking my feelings. My cheeks heated in anger and my hands clenched.

"Fucking—_fucking_ idiot. I could have killed you. I should have killed you. Retard!" I growled under my breath, stomping ahead, dusting myself and refusing to face the amused girls with my flushed face. I couldn't believe they had the heart to fool around in the arena, middle of the night, lost in the woods. What would have happened if I had actually drawn my sword on time? I shivered at the vivid representation of his surprised face, the metal piecing his stomach, his mouth full of slippery blood, his eyes regretful. I could have hurt him—I could have had his death on my conscience forever. He was already haunting my dreams as it was, crying for my help until his voice died in his throat while I stood helpless in the sidelines, pleading for my body to wake up, for my eyes to save me and open to the reality of him cuddled beside me. Noticing the way they all stared at me in judgment, as if my reaction was wrong, made me believe I was the one slipping.

He pouted towards me, mouthing an apology, standing up and wiping the blood in his hands on his pants disgustingly. There was something with him and blood that I had yet to figure out but as long as he did not keep having panic attacks, we would be fine. As long as I was there to pick him up, we would be fine.

I thought he had used the spear, which didn't make sense with the amount of blood, covering his clothes and his cherub face, but I didn't question him, knowing that happy Marvel automatically meant prideful Marvel, which in turn meant sassy and aggressive Marvel. He was definitely happy if he was in the mood for those stupid pranks. I didn't want to argue with him because we didn't have time and I didn't think I wanted to test out how far it would go that time. We had finally fallen back to our usual friendly relationship and I was praying it was not going to be broken soon. I didn't need one more burden on my mind.

I looked back at him, offering a faint smile of recognition to which he returned a grin. Despite his childish idiocy, I liked that he had stepped up. It proved to me that he was an asset to the team and he could do this until the end. It would work well for the sponsors as well, keep them interested and keep them betting. They had been generous with him already though we had not needed anything from them urgently, having the entire Cornucopia to ourselves, but the tables could turn fairly quickly. Something in my gut told me they _were_ going to turn fairly quickly. My intuition these days was fluctuating insanely and I worried because my warrior instinct was rarely wrong.

Death was interesting, suffering even more so. The audience needed gore, not harmless walks in the woods. They were going to come after us. I was just hoping having Marvel close by delayed that confrontation. It was hard to restrain myself for the sake of his reputation, seeing as I didn't want to stain that if the sponsors were going to keep us alive. I looked over at him, walking by my side, oblivious to my stare and remembered what Brutus had told me that first day about his being my greatest weapon. He was more than that I realized. I didn't like how Brutus turned people into functions but I assumed it was due to his own experiences with the Games. My case was different though. Marvel was not exactly my greatest weapon in the way he imagined the boy to be. He was my driving force, pushing me to fight harder to protect him and he was my sanctuary, letting me show my weaknesses when I couldn't hold back any longer. I was fa—

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" Clove pondered aloud, stopping in her tracks and turning to face in the direction of the supposedly dead girl. My thoughts were broken and I tried to rack my brain in case we had missed it. That option seemed impossible; the night was quiet; the cannon should have startled us. My gut ached and I started to get suspicious. Marvel seemed lost next to me and that was starting to annoy me. I hoped he had recovered from that stage of numbness and knew what he was doing now.

"Did we miss it?" Glimmer rephrased my thoughts, biting her lip and looking around. I saw everyone shake their head no, admitting they had not heard anything. I could see Glimmer trying to protect her partner, stepping next to him to offer comfort, her fingers finding his blood-stained hand. Her actions kept pouring fuel into the fire because if there was going to be anyone comforting him, that would be me. I was too busy hating on their special bond to be paying attention to Clove who was talking fast, trying to diffuse the tension building. Her eyes were knowing, pleading for me to not explode shrapnel everywhere.

"They should have picked her up. Why wait?" Clove stated, trying to inch backwards towards the destroyed camp and spot her body in the midst of the trees. It was too dark to see anything past our torches. I was still glaring at Glimmer's head whispering silently to Marvel when the lover-boy spoke up and then I had to do a double take because he almost never spoke. It was another one of his one-word bombs.

"Unless…" the District 12 boy started hesitantly, raising his eyebrows towards me, and I didn't need to hear him out—the veins bulged in my hands.

"Unless, she is _not_ dead. Marvel!" I snapped furious, turning to confront his defensive face, shaking in denial as he stepped back. The pride had dropped completely from it. He was stuttering to excuse himself. Had this kid fooled me, fooled us all? What was he playing it? I was confused at how that miscalculation could have happened. What was so hard about making sure somebody was dead? Here I was praising him in my mind and there he was trying to sabotage our entire position.

"She's dead! I killed her myself," he whined, pouting like a child that his credit was being stripped away from him. His cute face was not going to work on me now because at this point everyone in that circle was annoying me to no end. He moved by Clove's side, shaking Glimmer off like an annoying fly and scanning the area. He knew the small distance he moved away from me wouldn't help and I had the urge to pull him back heatedly.

"Did you, now? Then were is the cannon?" I bellowed, infuriated that he could not even complete such a simple task, instead opting to waste more of our time. I was upset at the fact that he seemed to be hiding from me again, using Clove and Glimmer as his shields. I was done playing that cat and mouse game. I was done being Tom when he was Jerry, always victorious at the end of the day. I just wanted him to step up to me and admit his mistake. Then he would apologize and I would not make his life too miserable.

I was trying to figure out if his confused face was genuine while he was attempting to decide if I was going to hurt him for his mistake. Had he really not seen this coming? I wished I had stayed back now. That was what one little weakness did to you. I tried to be merciful and not kill the girl myself only to have the idiot assure that I would have to at some point when we had to track her down again. He was either incompetent or plotting and at this point I did not know which one was worse. I eyed the backpack on his shoulders in dread.

"I will go back to double check," Clove suggested gingerly, trying to ease the tension rising in the group as Marvel and I stared each other down. Her hand moved to Marvel's back in encouragement and he looked away from me to offer her his attention. I snarled Clove's name, ordering her to move faster, feeling the guilt in my spleen at the way she pouted at me disgustingly, telling me I was becoming overbearing. Marvel glared at me again.

"She's dead!" Marvel interrupted her, openly affected by the discussion. He was starting to get riled up and I was not in the mood to control his outburst, especially if he decided to throw shit around. I was not in the mood to do anything I realized. I had been wrong about it being a good night. I had soon understood the lack of good sleep was aggravating me and making me more irritable. Now him and I were fighting again and that only served to make it worse.

"Go. Before we have to track her down again," I grumbled annoyed, ignoring the scowl that Marvel was shooting my way. Before Clove could run back, the District 12 kid had moved ahead, volunteering himself, desperately wanting to get out of the circle of death we were forming. I didn't blame him; we all looked ready to detonate. I thought it was suspicious but let him go. I preferred him getting ambushed to Clove anyway. Besides I didn't think he was going to do anything to go against us at that early point. Marvel was like a boiling cauldron next to me, waiting to blast burning liquid all over the rest of us. Glimmer was squirming in her place, her hands clutching her pants nervously.

"I'll go do it myself," Marvel grunted, trying to salvage any pieces of his remaining shattered ego, starting to move towards the clearing before I grabbed him by the forearm holding him back. I knew he would do it right the second time and maybe that was all I needed to do to restore our relationship, let him go now. But I didn't want him to go back there again alone. He was too angry to be thinking straight. He was thinking in red and that type of the thinking led to spilling more red. I would know. I was being selfish again, thinking about my emotional well being over his.

My pride wouldn't allow him to think I cared though, because my pride was a bitch and somehow it always ended up making every other emotion I had her bitch. So, I said the first thing on my mind, hoping he would understand while knowing there was no way he ever would. I braced myself for the whiplash.

"_You_'ve killed enough for today," I growled back at him, my fingers wrapping around him so tightly that I could tell he was going to bruise even though he was not giving me the satisfaction of seeing him in pain. His eyes shimmered in hurt; he could never control his eyes; they would always betray his real emotions. They had taught him to keep a straight face but they could never take away how expressive his eyes were without physically removing them.

The psycho part in my head screamed in frustration, trying to silently apologize to the boy but it seemed like the weak, emotive parts ones won any battle, whether it was mental or physical. So I continued to hold him down, against my will, or some of it.

"Let. Me. Go," He threatened under his breath, trying to pull away but I held him put, yanking him a little off-balance in warning. He hissed in pain, growling at the same time. I was treating him like an animal and by doing that he seemed to be regressing back into that response. He was becoming wild and I feared he would be as aggressive as a wounded and trapped creature. I wanted to make it better but I couldn't see any way out.

"Cato, stop," Clove warned sternly, trying to snap me back into reality. She did not understand that it had already gone too far. If I did let him go at that point, he would not calm down. He would most likely run off somewhere in the forest where he would hide until he broke down. He would drive us insane with exhaustion and worry in trying to pinpoint his location. I knew him too well by now. In that moment when I was overcome by wrath I had made the wrong move to abandon him again so now I could not physically let him go. I could not allow that to happen. He had to stay by my side so I could make him see sense.

I could sense Marvel shaking underneath my palm and I could feel the air thickening in crackling pressure. Ten more seconds, I told myself. If he would control himself for ten more seconds, everything would be over. That strategy had never failed me.

The cannon was heard, indeed startling us, and I sighed in relief, letting go of his arm while he yanked it to his chest, holding the bruised arm in his hand. I felt guilty at having hurt him again but at least I thought that had been the end of it. He had nowhere to run back now. The girl was dead. I was pleasantly surprised to note that he did not make a move to flee not until the District 12 boy was back, feigning annoyance.

"Was she dead?" I asked casually, looking to see if there was a chance of a possible ally in him for longer than I thought. I was hoping he would give me some information on what Marvel had fucked up but the boy was reserved, sensing the argument in session. As he answered, he only directed his attention to the seething boy as he foresaw his decision.

"No, but now she is," he muttered back, joining the group and waiting for orders. The atmosphere had not ameliorated and before I could open my mouth to announce our next move, Marvel had already decided he was not going to acknowledge my presence for fairly long time.

He fled, ramming hard into me and walking ahead. My side ached in protest where he had decided to elbow me but I didn't let it show because it was already embarrassing enough that as a leader, I couldn't keep him under control. My heart seized in panic, my body twitching in the need to sprint after him. He was leaving after he said he wouldn't.

"Shit. Marv—fuck!" I cursed out loud, turning to chase after him only to be stopped by none other than Glimmer, who shook her head, holding my sweaty hand. I didn't like people touching me when I was frustrated. I also didn't like how she was giving him a lead and making it impossible for me to find him in the darkness.

"He will be fine. He just needs some time," She murmured, shrugging as if the aspect of her partner running alone in the wild during nighttime did not faze her. She must have known Marvel fairly well, predicting his behaviors. That fact brought up fragments of jealousy in my blood. I liked being the only one who knew him on a level deeper than his fake smile. I did not like having competition, especially from a superficial, airhead bimbo.

"Especially from his ex-girlfriend," my mind provided for me, "the most good-looking tribute in the Games—the one he has fucked before."

I was worried at the prospect of him being alone without my protection but I knew that I had made a mistake in doubting him today, putting him down and treating him like dirt. I knew he needed some space to prove to himself he could do it on his own. Frankly, I needed to know he could do that too. So I let him go, hoping I wouldn't regret it, praying he wouldn't stumble back to camp hurt and bleeding.

As soon as he left my side so did my fury from before, draining me from my last ounce of enrgy. I was left standing there and looking at the darkness, disappointed that I had ruined it again and wanting him to emerge from the shadows and run into my arms, knock me down, jump into my lap—anything! I knew it wouldn't be that easy this time though. Our relationship was becoming toxic, fluctuating between bliss and rage. I knew I had to make a decision soon because if I didn't the decision would be made for me. I could either have him all the way or abandon that thought entirely.

"I'm going to murder him one of these days," I grunted dismissively, giving up the notion of following him and leading the others presumably to where Marvel was heading. Clove took her previous position by my side but it didn't feel the same. I heard howls in the distance and all I could do was bite my lip and hope that the Capitol would keep him safe. The thought set my blood on fire because I had acknowledged that those demons were doing a better job at it than I at the moment.

But he was mine and I was going to take him away from them.

* * *

Lying down and looking at the sky like I had seen Marvel do many times, I had begun to think that waiting for her to come down had not been the greatest idea ever said on national TV. Why did we even listen to her partner? How did he come to control the situation? She was most likely not going to come down with us here; she would probably starve herself or kill herself trying to jump from tree to tree. But we had been too excited to find her that we could not let the opportunity pass. Maybe it had been the District 12 boy, his presence caused the discovery to happen, his lesser District voodoo magic. But most likely it hadn't been him so his utility was starting to diminish fairly fast, making his death appear forthcoming. Soon we would not have to drag that burden and risk around.

Marvel had not spoken to me since our little misunderstanding, which was to be expected and typical. He had disappeared for nearly two days while the rest of us continued to comb through the forest, setting traps and searching for a water source. My nights had been sleepless, twisting and turning violently, thinking of what he was up to, where he was sleeping and how he was faring. It had driven me insane. Whenever the anthem played, I held my breath, preparing to see his smirking face hologramed in front of my eyes.

I didn't want to show that I was worried because everyone else seemed fine with it. Glimmer had kept up her happy-go-lucky attitude, occasionally blurting that she missed him, and Clove remained blaze to the whole scenario, dedicating her time to teasing the lanky boy from 3. I was the only one who kept pacing around the Cornucopia, cursing under my breath and furiously looking around, expecting him to emerge from the forest line. After all how much time did he need? Every hour that I was left alone, I become more enraged and the others could sense my growing destitution because they were keeping their distance.

When he had finally returned, strolling towards our supply stack with a leisurely pace and picking up a water bottle, I had been eager to see his reaction. I had jumped up from the campfire, running over to his dirty body. I thought his presence by my side meant he had forgiven me again and things would fall back to their appropriate spot. But he still remained distant, heading for the lake to wash off without uttering any acknowledgements. Wet and dripping, he had then joined our circle, hugging Glimmer and sitting down not saying a word, busying his mouth with food that he hungrily devoured. It was clear he hadn't eaten since he left and seeing him so excited made my stomach burn in guilt.

His little retreat had taken a toll on his body because he looked fatigued with deep blue circles under his eyes and scratches marring his face. He had fallen asleep on his ass the first day, his head lolling sideways on his propped knees. Glimmer had giggled upon realizing he wasn't listening to her blabbering summary of the past few days, touching his hair lightly, before I had told her to let him be, sending her pouting self off to bed.

When I had gently laid him down next to me that night, out in the grass, next to the fire and below the stars, his shirt rode up and I noticed the dried, crusty blood on his dirty bandages. A fresh scratch ran down his left ribcage, inviting me to investigate before he stirred, coiling tighter as the wind iced his skin. I bit my lip against the curiosity, discarding my jacket on top of his body. I punished myself to the cold that day, knowing the Capitol was doing it on purpose. My naked biceps cringed as the temperature dropped but I didn't let my teeth chatter or my lips shake, instead arranging the clothes on top of his frazzled frame throughout the night. I bet Seneca was smirking at the sight.

I had not known what other injuries he was hiding but I had been anxious to interrogate him on the next morning, when he opened his green eyes, flinching at the bright light. However, he had not even looked in my general direction and his entire disposition seemed introverted—he had essentially retreated from the world again. I had not bothered him no matter how much I wanted to go over there and shake some sense into him, make him acknowledge me, talk to me. I had grit my teeth when he offered me my jacket back, gulping my anger down, and bit my tongue, waiting there patiently for him to come to me. He would—he had to.

We always went through that up and down, wavy relationship. It just seemed as if with every wave up, I fell down a little further. With every fury, the discomfort of not having him by my side, smiling and looking up to me, became more unbearable. With every fight, every moment of peace seemed more desirable and sacred. With every moment of understanding, every fight became more toxic, eating me on the inside. I did not understand what was happening. I very seldom established relationships with people and none of the ones I had already were even remotely similar to the way I touched him. I wouldn't think I would be able to handle more than one if they were.

He was different. He activated every single emotion that usually was left to rot deep in the back of my head, unused and forgotten. He got me angry to the point of flashing lights, appearing in front of my eyes in warning. He got me thrilled to the point of my hands shaking in anticipation. He got me smiling to the point that I had never before even in front of my parents. And the worst part of it was that at times, he got me turned on to the point of madness, to the point where I lost rationality in the intensity of my passion.

He awakened in me my two most primitive drives, Eros and Thanatos. He opened the gates to my id without preparing to face what was inside, letting me struggle with myself to be good.

I knew I would eventually have to swallow my pride because my thoughts had already gone past the stage that would not affect my performance. I missed him. I wanted him back. I wanted anything from him even if it was an insult or a punch because it hurt to see him move away from me. Here I was, volunteering myself for another night of no sleep because I couldn't get my brain to shut up, criticizing me on my decisions. I had stared solely at his scrunched, sleepy face for the first hour, earning a bitter chuckle from the girl above. I knew I would kill her since the day she taught Marvel how to shoot. I hated how he had not tried today.

I hated how he had not laughed when we spotted her, scrambling up the tree in fear. He had stood there, gazing longingly at her face until Glimmer had tugged on his sleeve, pointing. To make matters worse, he had smiled to himself—smirked in mocking of his own partner—when she had missed, stomping her feet in frustration and clinging on my arm annoyingly. He had scared me and, fumbling pathetically with the bow to make an attempt at outshining his apparent muse, I realized, screaming at his squinting face in dominance to get some firewood, that I needed him to leave if I was going to climb up that tree to bring the wretch down. I wouldn't be able to stand the satisfied look on his face if I fell, buying the girl on fire some more time. And when I did fall, grunting in emotional pain more than physical one, I blanched to see that he had witnessed it, walking up towards my floored self apathetically and dropping the pile of wood unceremoniously on my feet with an exaggerated bow. I grabbed the thickest stick and threw it against the trunk, snapping it in half. I sulked for the rest of the day in the exact same spot I was at right now.

Still gazing at the artificial sky, I spotted a white object, moving rather speedily towards my direction. It took me a while to calm my breathing and convince myself that we were not being thrown a falling star. I felt enormously stupid when I saw the white parachute gliding in the wind. It wasn't my fault Marvel was the one that got all of them. Somebody had sent a gift though I couldn't imagine what for. It seemed random. Was it supposed to be for the girl above? Would anybody send her help? I decided it was either for her or me, seeing as those were the only logical explanations. So I reached for it because no matter whom it was for, having it would only benefit us.

Opening the capsule, I rolled my eyes at its insides. It was definitely Brutus, being his usual self and sending encrypted messages. I heard every mentor attempted to have their unique style so if the chutes got mixed up, tributes would know. Brutus like puzzles and from what he had told me 'that faggot Gloss' like to quote authors. I had not been able to look at any of the blonde's notes but I knew Marvel kept them in the zip-up, jacket pocket above his chest. I had seen him unwrinkle them with obsessive accuracy and I had noticed, though he tried hard to hide it from us, that he read through them manically when he woke up at night. I restrained myself from wanting to become an incarcerator.

I pulled out the blue rose and the card attached to it, reading the prose in amusement, slapping my forehead in the end:

"_I am just two and two.__  
__I am warm, I am cold.__  
__I am lawful, unlawful__  
__A duty, a fault.__  
__I am often sold dear,__  
__Good for nothing when bought;__  
__An extraordinary boon,__  
__and a matter of course.__  
__Yielding with pleasure__  
__When taken by force."_

I hated this man. I always knew I despised him but know I remembered why. I did not comprehend the point behind him being so subtle. I guess he did not want to warn the gamekeepers of my next move, which was smart, if only I knew what that move was to begin with. He was probably sitting in front of the TV, sipping on his Lombroso wine and mocking me in front of my big-boobed stylist. He thought he was so smart.

I slumped on the ground, repeatedly banging the back of my head against it in self-pity, the words repeated in my head in a singsong voice. Why must he insist on the puzzles that gave me nothing but pain? He even joked about my scarce wits himself, telling me I was nothing but muscle and speed. I had shrugged in concession to that.

I looked at the rose in my hand. It was a sapphire shade of blue, clearly artificially made. Roses were common in the Capitol. They loved their colors and used them on every occasion possible. They had many occasions.

Brutus, being the follower that he is, had taken interest when he had found out that every one of them meant something different. He loved the subtle beauty of the mind working out the answer slowly, taking its time to appreciate the intricacies of the dilemma.

When I started thinking about it, I remembered that the color altered the meaning. Blue was supposed to symbolize something with love—lost love, love at first sight, no, pure love, that would be white, dark love, kinky love, impossible…The unattainable love interest! My eyes shone in pride, opening to look around in case somebody else had noticed my spasm. One down, one long-ass poem to go.

Brutus probably wanted me to put more of a show. That seemed pathetic and unnecessary. It couldn't be it. He wanted…ah, fuck it.

I brought the flower close to my nose for a sniff, realizing the artificiality made it smell toxic, before crushing it between my fingers and dropping the petals on the floor and continuing my simplistic observations of the boring surroundings. By that hour in the night I had counted the number of trees around, approximated the height of the one she was at, imagined myself climbing there and killing her in her sleep.

"Yielding with pleasure when taken by force—" I chuckled bitterly to myself, throwing the capsule against the tree. It bounced off, landing on a nearby bush that cushioned its fall. Brutus seemed to be like me: he liked the forceful aspect of shoving someone against a bed and…

It sunk in eventually what he wanted me to act on and I smirked at the sky to show him I had figured it out. It took me an eternity but I had it. His message now that I could decode it seemed stupid simple. It had sent a flutter to my stomach because it had erased all the limitations and paved the path for me.

Standing up, I inched towards an unconscious Marvel, curling on his side, fast asleep. Would he accept me now? I sat next to him, trying to think of my words before I woke him up. I knew my tongue had the ability to get infatuated with him so I thought I would prevent that catastrophe by nipping it in the bud. I would not let the feelings scare me; I would tame them.

I wanted to tell him that I wasn't going to hurt him anymore. I wanted him to look at me again, smile at me and just give me his undivided attention. I wanted to tell him that I was ready to make a move now and that I was done fooling around, that this time I wouldn't go back into hiding when the heat became too much. I wanted to tell him that I knew it was absurd but our lives had been absurd every day we had trained to please a minority that only wanted us dead. We had nothing under control and yet we were scared of letting go. We were born without that choice. We had already let go of our dreams, our hopes, our futures.

As I lightly touched his forehead, sliding my hand through his hair, he stirred awake, mumbling in his sleep, calling for either Glimmer or Gloss, before gaining enough consciousness to make him jump away from me, startled, weapon ready in hand. He was looking at me in such fear that I wondered what he had been dreaming about. I raised my arms in front of me in a sign of peace and I saw his body sag in relief, noticing it was my presence awaking him. He did not inch back towards me though, looking at me through confused eyes that were dark with sleep.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He whispered, careful not to awake the others. His voice was gruff with sleep and high-pitched with the initial fear. I seemed to not be good at waking him up. That would be the second time his sleep patterns were disturbed by my manhandling. He looked so adorable though and I couldn't help but be amused by the way he kept looking up and down without deciding whether he wanted to face my eyes or not. It had been a while since we were face to face with no interruptions. He gulped and I saw his eyes climb up the tree to her. I didn't get mad though; I didn't feel the jealousy. I merely guided his startled face gently towards mine again.

"I wanted to tell you something, Marvel. Will you hear me out?" I murmured quietly, smiling at him faintly, seeing as my smiles usually set him in a good mood. I had used his name again and he was more alert having heard it. I was trying to relinquish all control to him because in all honesty he had it. I was about to let myself wide open after handing him a weapon. I was about to risk my entire mental sanity for him.

I must have been doing the right thing that time because he dropped his weapon clumsily and inched towards me, sitting down and crossing his legs, still staring at me with his innocent eyes. His body was tense and his anger not yet diluted but he was willing to listen.

"What is it?" he snapped, curiosity beating his rage. The sleep had fogged his mind and it seemed that no matter how hard he tried; he could not instill in himself the same hatred as before. I had captured his attention now and seduced him into wanting to face me.

I motioned for him to come closer to me with my hand and he leaned forward, too entranced to stop himself now. I kept smiling at him, hypnotizing him with the novelty of the occasion. His hands placed on the rocky ground as he crawled closer, my eyes never leaving his bottom lip. When he had came close enough for our knees to be touching, I felt that similar spark of electricity run through us in a loop, energizing my fatigued body, and that was all the spur I required.

Before he had time to speak again, I kissed him on the mouth, wanting to test out the lingering thought in the back of my mind. I kissed him gently, just touching his soft lips, moving mine against his. I did not touch him with my hands; I kept those strictly in my lap. I did not open my mouth; I held back. Because that wasn't the point of the kiss, it wasn't meant to satisfy the lust that had been subconsciously building up only to make its appearance known now, straining against my pants in searing heat. We would have time for that later.

It was to show him that I had moved past my limits—I didn't care about what people expected. I was to display to him that I had discovered what it was that I wanted from him; what he meant to me, how to react. It was to portray to him that whole side of me that did not ever get the chance to shine, told that it was weak, useless, that crazy side that had advocated for him all along.

Pulling back, I realized we had not lost eye contact, his green ones piercing into my blue. His front had collapsed into shards and he was lost in a sea of unknown sensations. He was scared to let go because as much as he wanted to trust me, he didn't want to be hurt. I knew I had to assure him that time; I had to surprise him. I had to break the cycle because that long-awaited time I wouldn't jump back.

I promised to myself I would never say it out loud, that I couldn't say it. But my pride could not stop me for expressing it and somehow that was all it took. Somehow the compromise had been made and my whole body for the first time felt comfortable with my decision.

"I am sorry, baby. I am so fucking sorry…for everything," I mouthed, slowly enough for him to make it out, reading my lips and he smiled at me except for that time, I did not find it as stupid. I found it liberating to the point that my eyes watered finally able to let go of that stupid promise that they had forced me to scream in the middle of their tortures. I had finally uttered those words, apologizing not only for the last event but for every single time I had hurt him and caused him pain, for every single day I had lead him on without giving him anything, for every single tear he had to shed for my sake, for everything. I apologized because I knew I had been on the wrong and I wanted him to show me how to right it all.


	10. Lucifer's Superbia Part III

**Chapter 10 – Lucifer's Superbia**

**Part III/III**

Cato's POV

I hadn't realized how deprived of affectionate contact I had actually been until I lay down next to his perfect body, both of us on top of his sleeping bag, his face, snoring softly next to my chest, droplets of drool staining my sweaty t-shirt. My heart fluttered with no hope of stopping ever since he mumbled my name in half sleep and my mouth dried in relief when I finally got the courage to wrap an arm around him, pull him to my chest and burry my tomato-red face in his curly locks. I hated that they were looking at us. I couldn't stop glaring at the camera, zooming at us teasingly. Fuck you, Seneca.

His hair tickled my sensitive lips that had been exploding at the taste of him as it blew in the chilly wind. I knew what they were trying to achieve by making the goose bumps appear on his arms: get us to crawl closer while simultaneously preventing us from going under the blankets. The exact temperature must have been a hard calculation to get right. I placed his colorful jacket on top of his bare shoulders, noticing bitterly how hot it had been when we first laid down, sweating and panting for water, and how cold it was getting as the gamekeeper's entertainment increased.

Once I noted that he had actually collapsed in unconsciousness, trusting me fully, I had taken a gulp of fresh air, smiling more freely. I didn't feel as anxious about being judged and I had finally allowed myself to analyze his perky nose and his long lashes, assured that he would not catch me, staring shamelessly in a way that was past sexual lust and well on its way too obsession. That night he was not troubled and as I pulled the corny hood of the windbreak, that had two triangle earflaps on top, to cover his face, I smirked smugly at the camera, knowing that no angle could get a close-up with my chest being in the way. He was all mine.

I hadn't made a move to kiss him again, opting for giving him some time to think about it—I didn't want him to back out. I didn't think I could handle it gracefully after having put myself out there in front of the entire world. I would punch him hard, dislocate his jaw, ruin his baby look, if he tricked me. I knew he was smart enough to understand how bruised my pride was because he didn't speak, dazed at my confession, the wide smile plastered on his happy face. He dropped on my lap, placing his pleased face sideways next to my burning groin, and I had to swallow my twitching desire, feel it burn my esophagus slowly, as I caressed his head, taking deep breaths to control my erection. I wanted him.

Eventually, he had dozed off, leeching onto me adorably, and the only way I managed to get him back in the appropriate place was to have myself lay down next to him, head propped on my hand while my other palm trailed down his back protectively. I had stiffened when I had felt the blond lover-boy stir, dragging himself in a sitting position with eyes glued shut and mouth yawning wide. I had glared at him when he looked around for the person on guard, trying to assess why he was awake. Our blue eyes clashed momentarily before he dropped them to my chest in curiosity. He stared for too long and I could feel my chest rumble as the growl made its way up before being swallowed down when Marvel moaned lightly at my disturbance.

"Do you need anything?" I snapped instead, addressing him angrily, my free hand leaning down on the hood to cover the curly-haired boy's ears lightly so he didn't wake. The blond rolled his eyes in annoyance, heading for the tree line and if it weren't for how cuddled up Marvel was against me, he would be sporting a broken nose. I heard him mutter behind him in a sarcastic tone, 'Can't people relieve themselves these days?' before he disappeared from my view, the darkness enveloping him completely. My mouth fell open at his sudden attitude and I blamed my submissive position, practically close to moving away and dropping Marvel's squished face on the grass in horror. I was already losing my authority and I feared that I had made the wrong decision. Looking at the way he was unaware of my dilemma, I slapped myself for being the first one to have doubts. Maybe he wouldn't get a chance to back out anyway.

Maybe I would be the one with the Band-Aid on my nose this time.

* * *

I felt Marvel violently jump up from where he was situated, head on my lap, and I couldn't get myself to care for a moment because my body felt so exhausted. I didn't want to deal with one of his freak our sessions. He would have to decide his feelings for me by himself. A part of me had completely forgotten where we were; all I knew was I just wanted to rest for a few more minutes. My eyelids were heavy and my head even heavier.

Then there was screaming, screeching, everywhere surrounding me. I could hear Clove yelling for me to wake up and run. Run where? That definitely jumpstarted my day and I woke up in shock to realize wasps, most likely tracker-jackers, were invading our territory, angered and lethal. They were buzzing around everywhere, dangerously incensed, and the rest of the pack was already squirming and running away in absolute mania, attempting to find solace anywhere. They were waving their hands above their heads, trying to open their eyes long enough to see the exit that would lead to safety.

I cursed myself hard at not being conscious enough to have stopped the situation. I should not have taken watch yesterday but who knew that the District 12 girl would do anything but sleep, who knew she would cause that much damage in a few short hours?

I couldn't even remember when my eyes shut. All I knew was that it was so quiet and the moon was so dark. I had automatically guessed that the Capitol would leave us alone that night. I looked up to see her cuddled in her sleeping bag and then I looked down to see Marvel snoring softly, cuddled up on my lap; all these making my own eye-lids droop. My conscious had felt clear, my heart satisfied and no memories were fighting to keep me awake. I had leaned against a tree, getting comfortable and making the huge mistake because as I continued to observe Marvel's prominent features, I had somehow drifted off to sleep.

I jumped up on my feet quickly, calling for the rest of them to move towards the lake. It seemed that they needed my leadership because as soon as I broke through the shrubs, sprinting to the water, Marvel and Clove were after me, keeping up quite well. I could not see if they had been stung but that didn't matter at the moment because as long as they were able to walk, they would be fine. I could tell by their stricken faces that they were afraid—I didn't protect them! I had allowed it to happen under my watch. I had allowed her to win.

I could hear Glimmer screaming for help back in the clearing, her yells becoming desperate, sobs escaping her but I couldn't get myself to go back. I knew she would be a goner soon and there would be nothing we could do to save her. I felt guilty for not having been able to protect my entire team but I told myself I couldn't think like that. I still had two of mine following me and needing direction. I still had the ones that mattered most, that I couldn't yet lose. I couldn't abandon them even if I wanted to head back and perform a hopeless rescue mission. I saw the calm lake, forming ahead of us, and I picked up speed, my lungs, burning in effort, screaming that we would almost be there to encourage them to keep going. I didn't have to worry because they seemed more determined than I to be the first ones, dipping into the cool pond. Clove had been cursing me non-stop ever since I opened my eyes whereas Marvel was doing the opposite, silent as a rock.

Upon contact with the water, my feet, touching the edge, I jumped in, clothed, submerging myself completely, feeling the relief of cold water protecting me. Marvel and Clove were not far behind, diving headfirst and coming up breathless, washing what I assumed to be their wounds. Red dots spotted their bare skin, starting from their arms up their neck and on their actual face. Marvel's cheek was slightly swollen but it looked nothing like Glimmer's form, dragging herself pathetically on the ground, yellow bile dripping down her once gorgeous face. A bitter part of me huffed, 'the most good-looking tribute' with a smirk before the horror of having to let Marvel know shocked me into movement.

My heart thumped from the previous fear, invading my body and numbing my mind, but my thoughts stopped racing when they floated closer, eyeing me without wavering in unconsciousness. My shoulders sagged in relief when I saw they were not badly injured. I slowly made my way towards them, walking in the water and meeting them halfway through.

"Everything's okay? Marv?" I asked concerned, holding Clove up by the waist since her small frame could not reach the bottom. She whispered a 'thank you' still too shell-shocked to answer my question. Marvel nodded hastily, his eyes roaming my body to check for my possible injuries. I had not felt anything sting me but I doubted anyone would have with the adrenaline rush I had just experienced. I smiled at him lightly to assure him I was fine and he sighed in relief, moving closer to my side. My fingers lightly touched the swollen bump and he whimpered in discomfort, yanking his face away with a pout. I hoped in my gut he didn't hallucinate because I was suddenly scared about what doors that would open and what monsters would come out of his closet. I knew somebody would wake up, screaming his throat raw in horror, after our little adventure.

It took me a second after making sure the two were all right to remember the District 12 boy. He had been with us. Was he dead? Had he escaped? And what about the girl? Jesus! The girl would probably escape. She would have to come down if she didn't want to die and that was the only way to get her. I had to go back to the clearing and follow her footsteps. Even if she had gained distance, I doubted she would be completely unharmed and the hallucinations would slow her down enough for me to get to her. I had to do this. We had sacrificed too much to let her go and that would mean we would have to chase her again. We had been lucky enough to find her the first time, having her run into our arms thanks to that fire. With our numbers dwindling, killing the threat could turn into an endless hunting mission.

Before I knew I had made my decision to fight, I was stumbling out of the lake, steeping on the squishy ground and grabbing my sword with a slippery hand. It felt different, my bicep struggling to control it. My clothes felt heavy and my head had started aching full blast but I had to be strong for a little longer. I had to prove to them that I wasn't just going to run away. I had to prove to myself that they had been wrong in awarding her that 11. I deserved that score—I was the strongest. It wasn't fair and I would always remember the impressed look in Marvel's eyes when the two ones popped up in front of her fierce face. I couldn't accept it and I had to prove to the gamekeepers that their little crush would not save her.

I could hear Marvel and Clove yelling for my attention through fearful voices. He had splashed forward, croaking against the chaotic sound of the water, whining at my departure. I didn't want to face him because I was scared I would be weakened again. I was terrified of how fast he could strip my authority down to nothing. His green eyes wouldn't trap me at the moment. Couldn't he understand I was doing it for them?

"Cato! What are you doing? Please, stop, Cato!" he was asking in a mix of fear and surprise, his voice raising with every word I ignored, marching ahead. He was inching towards me, trying hard to not slip on his way over, stumbling and coughing when his face splattered accidentally against the surface, his footing lost. He was completely torn down, shivering wet and by the few red spots on his neck and face, I would assume stung into vulnerability. I wanted him to stop torturing me, holding me hostage to my guilt. I didn't want him to make it harder for me to do the right thing for all of us and go hunt down District 12. We couldn't win like that. Seeing his desolate state, I was suddenly afraid to leave them alone and defenseless. My hunter instinct was clashing badly with my protective one, his dry sobs suddenly making it unbearable.

"Cato, don't go back!" Clove screamed, pleading with me because, being my partner, she knew exactly where my mind was. She seemed as lost as Marvel if not more distressed because she was smaller and the venom of the Jackers was spreading faster, giving her those terrible sensations. We had to get her back to camp as soon as possible. I couldn't waist any time to look at his lost, beautiful eyes anymore.

I thought about running back through the forest without paying any attention to them because they were being weak. That was not how Careers were supposed to act—they weren't supposed to lose control! I had to teach them a lesson but I couldn't get myself to hurt what already stood broken in front of me so I returned to the water, making my way to where Marvel was standing, knee-deep in the water, meeting him halfway through to ease his worry. I needed him to stay strong for me. I needed to try the other approach for the first time in my life.

"I have to go hunt them down, tie up the lose ends," I explained patiently, trying to get him to understand because I wanted his approval. I wanted him to say 'go back and finish them off, I will be safe; I will be waiting for you to come back'. I prayed for god to give me another person to share the pressure because my head ticked close to exploding.

"I'll come with you! You can't possibly want to go there alone!" He frantically muttered and I should have known that would have been his first line. He was too loyal to put his safety over mine. He was my light at the end of the tunnel in the suicide mission I was signing myself up for.

"Marvel, don't leave!" Clove beseeched, swimming towards us, and I looked back at her small frame and then at his green, worried eyes. I didn't want him in danger with me but I couldn't tell him that because then I would have to admit that I would be in jeopardy and he would never let me go. So I found the next best thing, the excuse that would appeal most to his sensitive side.

"You have to take care of Clove, Marv. I will be back to find you guys. I'll be fine," I murmured, touching him lightly on the shoulder as he shoved the wet bangs out of his eyes. He still didn't seem convinced and I could tell he was itching to grab me, wrestle me to have his way.

"Cato, don't. I need yo—" he protested lightly, already knowing he was defeated. His hand had come up to grasp the end of my jacket, the one I had leant him so many times, in a pathetic attempt to get me to stay. I felt bad leaving him but I could not forget the Games. I had volunteered after all.

A cannon burst through the air, almost shaking the ground, and we all looked up in shock. Suddenly, his eyes widened and a new fire built in them, crazed and desperate. I knew what was coming and I bit the inside of my mouth in pain until I felt the metallic taste of blood. It was as if he could telepathically feel that she was gone. It broke me a little on the inside to see his face twist in the most severe pain he had shown to date, fresher than when I had beat him and more palpable than when he was shipped. My heart clenched in hurt and for the first time in my life, I regretted a lost life. That could have been Clove.

"Where's Glim?" He inquired in a screeching voice, panicked beyond what my soothing eyes could tame, looking around in frantic fascination, completely forgetting my presence, accidentally running into Clove who was trying hard to leech on to his wet, shaking back, hugging him to herself while staring at me in concern. "Where is she? Please!"

I couldn't make him understand at the moment. Time was running out and I knew if I told him the truth, he would be crushed into pieces I wasn't sure I could glue back together; he would want to go back to look for her disembodied form and I couldn't have that. It would never leave his memory. I had to keep him there where it was safe, where I could come back to them, and go hunt down the other two before it got too late. I couldn't waste anymore time. So that was what I told myself when I made the decision to lie to him, knowing fully well it would blow up in my face soon, hurting me. I couldn't see him anymore unhappy than he was at the moment but I knew I couldn't protect him from the truth forever.

"She's fine, hey—hey baby, she's all right. Stop," I told him, speaking rapidly and holding him still with both my hands on his damaged face. My tongue felt surrounded by mothballs and I could see the doubt in his eyes, further driving the dagger into my gut. His face was scrunched up in pain and his mind was struggling to believe me. He was looking behind me at the forest.

"No, she's not. I have to go save her!" He exclaimed, deciding not to believe me and running past me, trying to get out of the lake. I cursed under my breath, sprinting to follow him with Clove in the background shouting his name. I caught him by the waist, pulling him back to me and hugging him tightly against the heart hammering in my chest, calling to him. He fought against me, pushing me away and screaming 'let me go', writhing in my hands.

We both ended up falling in the water, grappling like the first time we fought, him trying to escape and me attempting to hold him back, yanking his wet clothes while hearing his frustrated sobs. He was violent, scratching my arms, trying to squirm away from me while I tried to restrain him without causing him more pain. I thought for a moment that I should have knocked him out cold but I couldn't do that to him. He would be too vulnerable.

"Stop! Marvel, quit it, I'm begging you!" I screamed anguished, holding him down halfway in the water, my hands slamming his back against the shore, his arms above his head. He froze at my command, looking at me in anger that seemed oddly out of place in his wide, anxious eyes. His chest was heaving from his efforts, his chest wounds bleeding twirling blood in the water, and his fingers were covered in blood, which meant I was bleeding too from his scuffing. My body was feeling too numb to care but he saw how much damage he had caused and dropped silent, lowering his eyes.

"I promise she is fine, little one. She is back at the Cornucopia. Wait for me to return and we will all go back together," I soothed him, the lies burning my tongue as they escaped. Shit. I couldn't do that, I couldn't promise him that. It had flew from my mouth before I even thought about it twice because I wanted him to calm down and I wanted that hurt and fearful expression to leave his face. I had to keep repeating to myself that it was the only way because I was close to giving up on my chase and getting him back to camp where he could dry off and mourn his partners death on my lap—the partner who I had technically murdered.

His whole body went slack underneath me and he was torn for a second before he nodded gingerly and I let him stand, offering him my hand and pulling him up. This time he did not try to make for the forest and I assumed it was safe to leave. I had already lost precious minutes. I reached into the back of my pants and dislocated a knife from my belt, placing it in his trembling, bloody hands, the ones he was staring at in horror.

"Make sure you're both safe for me, won't you, baby?" I whispered softly, reaching up instinctively to kiss him on the forehead. I wanted to compliment him for getting himself under control. I was proud of him. He didn't stop me from moving away but I heard me him sigh and gulp in worry, whispering 'be careful please'.

"Stay close to Marvel, Clove. I will be back sooner than you think," I yelled, running towards the forest again and leaving them behind. I realized that no matter what happened before the Games, I had now become their official leader. They needed me to come back, clean the mess I had made, starting with killing our two greatest competitors. He needed me to fill up the place that Glimmer had as his only support inside the arena and I would try my hardest to give him everything he needed because without even meaning to, I had taken away another part of his life.

* * *

I hadn't realized the toll that the venom had taken on my body until my head started spinning and the terrain in front of me quivered dangerously. It had been rather difficult to find my way back in that state but I had looked at the destroyed ground from our frantic sprint to the lake and eventually managed to retrace our steps. The sword was slipping out of my grip and I could feel the sweat pouring down my burning forehead but I told myself to push a little harder.

It was an eye-opener to see both of them in front of me, sitting on the floor like sheep. I did not believe that I would ever be able to find them but there they were there, the girl disoriented and droopy and the guy speaking to her furiously, trying to help her up. I knew deep inside that he was nothing but a little bitch. He was never a part of us and I doubt finding the District 12 girl was even deliberate.

I should have killed him when I had the chance! I should have but I would not make that mistake again. Why did I even think he could be one of us? He hadn't lived through the tortures we had; he didn't understand what this experience meant for us. He couldn't. He just saw as like everyone else did, soulless and damned.

For a second, the day he came to me in the middle of the night, asking to be part of us, his eyes unwavering and his hand strong against my door handle, I had seen him as an ally. I had choked in surprise at the fact that we had convinced a non-Career tribute that we were safe to talk to, not infected by rabies. I thought he had been different because he had wide, sincere eyes and when he asked for mercy, he seemed so harmless and vulnerable. I had never planned to keep him alive. I did not want to risk dragging another bag of flesh or taking responsibility for another life.

Yet, seeing him beaten and bloody, shaking to defend himself while we surrounded him like sharks had somehow changed my mind. Because he was strong and when he pleaded and offered compensation, he did not crack. For a second, I saw in him what I had been years ago when they first decided to recruit me, their strong grasps, dragging me to the training academy against my simple-minded will. That weakness was the only thing I needed to make the irrational decision that lead to having to kill both of them in a state of delusion.

He was pleading for her to get up and escape, supporting her like I had gripped Marvel in the Cornucopia. I doubted that she had any strength left but knowing her, she had some sort of fire that kept her going. We all had one of those; sometimes though ours were too artificial to win. She stumbled on her feet and made an attempt to run and in that moment I had to make a decision because both of them were going in different directions but I could only chase one. In my state, I doubt I could do that either.

Get the girl, the toughest competitor when she was at her lowest? Or get the boy, the little bitch that managed to trick me with his soft exterior and betray us all, put Marvel and Clove in danger, kill Glimmer, allow her to escape? I knew that it was the wrong decision even as I was running blindly after him.

Instead of thinking about the game without including emotion, I was overrun by the need for revenge, the need to get something back in return for what he had taken from us, a desire to show him what real retribution looked like. It was that yearning to wipe off all remains of my past self that I saw in him. It was as if in my mind, killing him meant destroying all evidence that I once was that weak and lost, that soft and ignorant.

Chasing him down was getting harder with every step I took but it was taking a toll on him as much as me. And then for a second, he was close enough and I couldn't risk hesitating anymore. I didn't know if I was going to make a mistake again soon, seeing as it had become a trend lately, so I took action without overthinking it. I swung my sword aiming at his body but the delay that the fatigue had added in me changed its course. It drove a deep gash into his thigh and he screamed like a young child, clutching his leg.

I fell on my knees without even realizing that I had stopped feeling my feet. Through a jumbled up vision that was distorting everywhere, I saw him amble along in the woods, the blood dripping from his leg. I knew I had not killed him but I hoped we would be able to track him down from the stains if he did not die already from the injuries. As for the girl, I hoped that the venom got her weak enough to be eliminated by another tribute, possibly the red head that kept running through to grab our supplies, thinking we didn't see her. I couldn't do everything on my own—I couldn't be that angel of death that reaped the field out of everyone, sought them in the darkness of the night, became their final nightmare.

Looking around to see how far off I was, I froze in shock to see the same meadow we had previously found the fire girl, the one with seventeen trees, one of them more than two meters high. I could see the swollen corpse of Glimmer still laying lifeless on the grass and leaking puss out of her many stings. She looked so awful, the entirety of her once beautiful face deformed into an incomprehensible figure. Trained all her life to be killed by insects. I felt sick after analyzing her for too long. The nausea was consuming my body and I didn't realize I had been stung that much until I looked at my arms and I saw the numerous red circles covering my skin. There was more red than white. I touched my face, not being able to recognizing my own skin.

Shit. Fuck. I was losing consciousness fast and my throat felt so dry. It took some time to realize I couldn't breathe properly. I was heaving, trying to get as much air into my lungs as I could. Now I was properly panicking because the miscalculation was costing me my life and I didn't want to die. It was too soon! I had not finished my job. I had not used my full potential. I needed to be strong for Marvel and Clove.

Marvel, my baby! I couldn't leave him now. I had just realized I could have him without feeling guilty. I had just had that first taste of his lips. It couldn't possibly be the end. He would be devastated to find out that we had all deserted him. He would be alone and I couldn't let him get hurt.

I jumped up in pain, thinking I had lost my vision until I realized my eyelids had drooped closed. But when I opened them I would rather have gone blind. In front of me, I saw the shapes of Marvel and Clove, corpse like and swollen, their eyes dead and red and their arms reaching for me, filled with huge lumps that were covered in dried blood and puss.

I screamed so loud that I felt my throat bleed and almost choked on the blood, struggling to breathe. Their faces were so distorted I could barely tell it was them; flesh opened revealing the insides and skin darkened, veins popping from below. I shook my head, closing my eyes and emptying my stomach on the ground before collapsing on top of my mess. The stench was unbearable and I ended up vomiting again, trying to maneuver my body so I wouldn't have to face the repugnance and I wouldn't choke on my own waste. I felt a warm liquid wet my clothes, sticking them to my burning stomach, thinking it was blood, until the stench told me I had wet myself, lost control of my bladder in utter humiliation. I sobbed in pain and frustration. If there was a hell, I was in it. I would be in it for a long time…eternally.

I wouldn't let myself think morbid thoughts but that must have been an appropriate end for the monster from District 2, laying in his own shit and choking on his own venom-filled blood for the cameras to see. I could just about imagine them cheering, taking pictures. The bile leaked in my mouth and I tasted it, my lips too swollen for me to spit. If I could, I would aim straight for the Gamekeepers.


	11. Asmodeus' Luxuria Part I

**Chapter 11 – Asmodeus' Luxuria**

**Part I/III**

Marvel's POV

The minute I heard his anguished scream, I was charging through the forest with Clove trailing behind me, pleading for me to stop. She was still shaken by our experience and I could imagine why. Waking up to the searing pain in my veins had been less than pleasant and it didn't help that my guard had shattered to the floor at last night's events, my body finally able to feel safe enough to abandon all consciousness. I had been getting light sleep ever since we got in the arena but having his warm body next to me, his eyes looking down, had stupidly told me I would be fine—I could just have one moment to stop thinking about death. But death chased you around in the arena, slept with you, cuddled deep in your gut. It followed your panicked trailed much like I was doing at the moment, the trees swishing past me in a blur of green, the air hitting my swollen, hot face.

He had told us to stay put after all but I had done enough sitting around and chewing my nails in anxiety, hoping he would appear behind us soon so we could head back, change clothes and just cry in relief that we had all escaped that hell hole. I was hoping he would have killed the District 12 kids, at least one of them, but I could not get myself to care too much as long as he was safe. From the scream, I didn't think he was any longer.

I knew something had gone wrong the moment the white parachute had dropped on my lap, offering an Epinephrine Autoinjector and an urgently written note that said: 'Find him fast'. He had not even quoted anybody, not beating around the bush, and I startled, the pen dropping from my hand. I had been confused at first, thinking Gloss was worried about our swelling stings before I allowed myself to realize that _he_ was in danger and if I wasn't going to get to him in the upcoming ten minutes, he would die. He would leave me! That racing fear, holding me hostage against my will, had been enough to get me going though my limbs ached in protest and my reflection in the water told me I was practically unrecognizable.

I had not stopped sprinting ever since I came to the morbid deduction even when Clove ran after me, yelling in panic that we needed to wait for him to find us or we would all be lost. She hadn't noticed the sudden change in aura and I could tell by her wavering frame and glossy eyes that she was not herself. She was going to pass out soon.

I didn't have time or oxygen to explain to her the gravity of the situation and instead opted for having her follow me in a hopeless attempt to get me to stop. The ground was soggy where he had just run through and I thanked god that the sun had not dried it up yet because it was making it easy to follow his tracks. I hoped that the venomous wasps had left because I didn't think I could make myself run through that meadow again if I could hear their insistent, eerie buzz, filtering through the air in warning. I cringed to think he was back there, collapsed and being furiously pierced by their lethal stingers.

When I heard his screams again, I practically lost my footing and because I froze in the midst of running, Clove rammed into me hard and clumsily, knocking us both on the ground in heap of bones and flesh that would leave some bruises. I coughed blood on the back of my hand, reminding myself that the wounds on my stomach had opened once again. I was getting used to having the constant pain, trapping my ribcage, with how many times I had seen the skin bleed in pleading.

She didn't seem to have noticed why we were on the ground, her eyes darting towards the trees where I could see the sun starting to rise, the rays horizontally hitting our squinting eyes. For a moment, the sunlit meadow looked welcoming, beautiful, and that was exactly what the Capitol wanted us to think. I briefly imagined how it would be to die in that setting, feeling the warmth on your face and seeing the freedom of the blue sky, before Cato's destroyed face popped up in my mind, shooing all the other thoughts to the back.

Clove was up first, scrambling on her unstable feet and leading me inside the enchanted atmosphere because she had realized he was in danger. She was his partner and she was willing to fight for him even in her state of drowsy delirium. I could tell by her screeching of his name, she was terrified of lose him, pleading for him to answer. The yellow sun reminded me of her golden, curly locks. Where was my partner? Where was Glimmer? Had she really made for the Cornucopia? Would she have cared if I had been in Cato's place, needing to be saved?

Clove was calling his name, yanking me out of my fantasy, and I was right behind her, searching the area with my eyes, praying silently in my head to anybody who could hear that we could find him on time. The Epi-pen was clutched on my left hand, droplets of dew, condensing on its glassy form, and the knife he had given me, the one he had taken other innocent lives with, on my right, shaking.

I was frightened that we would be ambushed, the paranoia accentuated by the venom, but I hoped the Jackers would have driven everybody within a mile radius away. We were the only ones crazy enough to offer them a second round, another chance to beat our flesh and get their revenge. I still started to look around in anxiousness, darting from corner to corner, almost expecting Thresh's feral face to pop out of the shrubbery and bite my jugular off with his sharp teeth. My breath hissed down my windpipes, the knife, cutting my skin and wetting the grass with my blood not for the last time.

Taken by the ominously calm surrounding, my eyes had been perpetually trained on the forest line and my feet felt the bump too late, collapsing from under me, my back cracking on the hard floor, my nose bleeding at the contact as my side numbed. I cursed under my breath pathetically, pulling myself up to permanently freeze in shock at the mountain of flesh and blood in front of me, rotting under my oblivious hands. My mind exploded in a million pieces because in front of me lay Glimmer, beaten and deformed—dead. I screeched out of shock at first, covering my eyes before I screamed her name in denial, crawling by her body and looking around in panic. She was not the same person I had met as a child, she was not the same person I had dated and she was definitely not the same person that came with me to this Games. She was destroyed beyond recognition.

I was hoping deep inside that the gory creation was a hallucination created by my dark soul to sabotage my chances of survival. I was repeating to myself that my mind was playing tricks on me because she was back at the Cornucopia and she was still alive but by the look of utter pity on Clove's scrunched up face I knew she could see it too. A dull light in her eyes told me she had known all along. My heart refused to beat for me any longer.

I was devastated. They had taken away everything from her, her life, her identity. She was gone and I would never see her again because I believed him! Because I wasn't there to protect her, she would never be by my side again. He had lied to me. He promised and he lied, knowing how much it would hurt me. He had known she was here and he hadn't come back for her. My mind screamed in rage and only after Clove yelled my name, begging for me to be quiet, did I realize I was physically shouting as well. I attempted to retreat to the prison at the back of my skull so I could hide from the destruction, running frantic in my mind. I felt that familiar haze of indifference, taking away my senses, starting from the crippling pain in my stomach. My vision darkened and Clove's face faded in the background. I couldn't usually numb my mind in periods of high-stress but the past few days had helped me perfect the technique.

I remembered Seneca, chuckling in glee alongside the other trainers when I showed him the blood running down my wrists like a waterfall though my face remained unimpressed. He had said it was brilliant, poking his forefinger on the red substance, seeking a flinch that he never received. He had codenamed it 'beast mode'. He had given me a nine for it, though he knew I deserved a twelve. When I had headed back to my room that day, he had intercepted me midway to whisper that the only reason my score dropped was because now I had a very palpable weakness, one I could never dream of controlling like I had managed to train my body. He said he would give me that twelve when I managed to kill Cato and I had told him to fuck off, glaring furiously for the first time since he had taught me to always be passive with him.

I felt the weight of the needle on my hand and for a second I found hope, twisted and frail, shinning in the darkness. I could still save her. I could bring her back to me and I could see her blue eyes once again. That had to be what Gloss wanted from me, sending the gift; he would have wanted me to save my partner, the one who had saved me many times in the past. Be the hero that I didn't have the chance to be the first time. That was what I needed to do to fix my mistake.

As I grasped the injector in my hand nearing it to her lumpy face with bated breath, I felt the wind knocked out of me as Clove rammed into my stomach hard, landing on top of me like I had tackled Cato last night, wanting to see the concerned look that moment his shield had not been raised. I wriggled against her angry that she was interfering.

"What the fuck are you doing?" She screeched in resentment and fear. Her voice was so high-pitched that it bothered my sensitive ears. The pen fled from my hand and landed somewhere in the meadow of grass but I didn't pay enough attention to locate where. I was too busy, trying to tell her she was sitting on my damaged stomach and I was starting to feel my ribs ache, moving deliberately towards my inner organs.

"I need to save her. There's still time," I rambled against my suffering, getting up by shoving her away with a thump and heading by her side again while Clove grasped my arm, pulling me back with both her small hands. She was looking at me in pity but I could see behind her eyes that she thought that I had gone insane. I wondered if it ever crossed her mind to kill me, right then and there next to my dead partner. She wouldn't have to deal with my antics then. I would collapse and we would both lay in the sun like that day we went on our first date and I had not known when the right time to kiss her was.

"She is dead, Marvel. You can't help her," She explained softly, trying to yank me away from her corpse and looking around for what I assumed was the discarded medicine. What was the medicine about anyway?

"No! She can live! I know!" I hurried to explain to her, trying to yank back the sleeve of my new jacket violently. I heard it rip, touching it in horror and flailing to put it back together but my left arm had now been exposed up to the elbow and Gloss' gift was ruined. She tumbled out of balance, falling on her knees and looking up to me in pleading as I clutched the broken piece in my hand in place of the knife, long forgotten. Her eyes had gone glassy again and I felt bad for treating her so harshly but time was running out and I had to save my partner. I couldn't let her down.

"She's gone, Marvel. We need to find Cato. Please, Marv, he needs you. He's dying," She whispered hesitantly, her voice close to breaking and upon hearing his name again, I shook awake and turned to her in worry. She was right. Shit. That was what we came back for! I sprinted back because my blond was dying, the one that had snuggled me to his chest, the one that knew exactly when to kiss _me_.

Where was he? The trail ended at our original spot and he was nowhere in sight. Had they already taken him? No, they couldn't have! The cannon. I jumped out of my passive state, straining my ears for the noise. What had I been doing, hiding? This time prince Charming wasn't there, this time I had to fight the dragon that was my fear on my own.

My heart raced in panic as I ran around like a lost, cornered animal looking for him and screaming his name. I tried to sharpen my mind, beg it to help me tranquilize my body. We had heard one cannon. That must have been Glim—poor Glim…

He was here; he had to be. Clove had realized that I had snapped out of my hesitation and she joined me, trying to frantically look for him as well, our bodies grasping through shrubs like headless chickens. The meadow was so loud with the singing of the birds that I was about to develop a headache. I didn't know what was wrong with them because they hadn't been that wild when we first came in. I screamed in frustration for them to shut up and it was as if they listened because in the small moment of silence, we heard small moan and rushed in the direction.

Clove screamed upon spotting him. She half-sobbed half-screeched, immediately running over to his side and calling for him, her hands shaking inches away from his body without being able to touch him. I couldn't get myself to move for the first few seconds because he was there, lying in a puddle of puke and blood, immobile and pale, red dots marring his skin. He was there unconscious and I dropped to my knees about to faint myself at how potent the stench of blood was and how sick he looked and how much I hated my life at the moment. Glim and him looked too alike in their fates and I couldn't let myself believe that it was the same. He couldn't be dead. I should have gone with him. Why did I ever let him go? I should have held on to his shirt when he gave me the chance to openly clutch his chest next to my rabid brain.

I sobbed him name, feeling my body heat rise, my stomach nauseous and my head drilled in pain. I recognized my symptoms as fainting and dropping on my stomach, I only had time to look up to him once through my hazy vision. But then he stirred a bit and his blue eyes opened, the red of his veins contrasting starkly with his clear colored irises. He looked at me on the floor and he attempted to move. I startled in action when he whispered for me to 'stay strong.' That was all the drive I needed because he was alive, he was still there, hanging off the cliff with his strong biceps, and I had time. I could be there for him and he wouldn't leave me. I could still have him and that time there would be no more regrets. I wanted him like the Capitol had told me to never want anybody.

I rushed over to his filthy frame, dropping on the horrid mess and helping his torso on my lap, hugging him and whispering rapidly as my palms explored his tainted skin, trying to assess the damage. I felt the bumps under my fingers where the skin had been invaded and I heard the moans leaving his bruised, blue lips. I held his wracking body against me as he shivered in pain and I almost cried when I noticed the sickly yellow liquid, dotting his pants. I sobbed against his neck, holding his face against my burning lips, his drenched brow, tickling my trembling lower lip. His eyes squinted open for me as he nuzzled against my shirt with a small whimper.

"You're going to be okay, I promise," I mumbled pathetically when he made to speak, coughing, more puke, running down his chin as he stared at me to gauge my reaction. I didn't flinch, pushing the hair off his forehead and using my jacket to wipe away the remains of his puke off his face, cleaning him as best as I could with the drenched material. He sighed in relief and I assumed he was glad to feel the cool texture against his burning temple. I wished I could strip fast enough and offer it to him because I didn't care that it was soiled. I just wanted to see him well again.

"You don't have to," He choked out, rasping and squirming, before I shushed him angrily, incredulous at the fact that he thought the mess bothered me. I saw the way Clove gagged, stepping aside with her hand on her mouth, and I glared at her apologetic face. She murmured 'I can't', shaking her head in pity.

"You idiot! You fucking fool! Don't you ever do this to me again, you hear me? Don't you ever leave me again," I was repeating in a loop, nuzzling his burning neck and feeling his hands grasp the front of my wet shirt. I might have been kissing him; I no longer knew what I was doing. I had closed my eyes and just let my brain and heart calm down, knowing he was in my arms.

I could hear he was telling me something and I moved him up so his mouth lined up with my collarbone, looking at him and trying to figure out what he needed me to know. He was looking at me with his blue eyes but I wasn't sure if he knew where he was or if I was real. It took some time to realize that he was apologizing to me furiously and repeatedly, begging for forgiveness. For the second time in his life, he had admitted his mistake and uttered those god-forsaken words. I almost smiled at him tearfully. I knew what he was talking about and I knew that I would always hate him for lying to me but I couldn't get myself to be upset, not after I had experienced the greatest relief of my life.

I kissed him lightly on the lips, ignoring the acidic taste, to shut him up and whispered against them, "It's okay, baby. I'm so glad you're alive. We found you now and we are going to take care of you. It's okay. I forgive you."

I had not realized I had said that until after it came out of my mouth but I wasn't going to take it back because I meant it. I could feel his body slump in relief and I tried to pick him up and place him on his feet, heaving hopelessly in the process. We needed to get out of there before the Tracker-jackers tracked us down again. Clove was standing next to us, looking down in mild surprise at our interaction, her face still sporting traces of worry. When she saw me struggle, she reached to help but before we could accomplish anything, he started heaving vigorously, choking for breath.

I screamed for Clove to get the lost injector and she rushed over, searching for it in panic. I wished I had not been a fool and lost it. I shuddered thinking of the consequences behind my desire to help Glimmer. Cato would have been hopeless and we would have watched him attempt to breath and fail until he wasted away. I was glad that Clove had managed to be strong when I had wavered. Cato was still choking on my lap and I was rubbing his back soothingly, kissing his hair and whispering for him to keep fighting.

Clove finally rushed back with the Pen and she handed it to me with shaking hands, silently telling me that she couldn't do it. It was my turn to take over and be strong. I nodded, shifting Cato slightly so he was leaning on my chest but one of my hands was free to operate the injector. I bit the top off, clutching the pen in my hand before I hugged Cato a little tighter, driving the needle in his leg past the wet cargo pants. He whimpered in pain and his entire frame flinched upon impact but he didn't protest as I held it still, waiting for the medicine to take effect. I knew they accounted for these reactions when they created the mutated wasps so I knew that he would be able to breathe again shortly—the medicine was quite potent.

One of his palms moved to find my arm and I thought he would interrupt the medicine but he just grasped my forearm, his fingers digging into skin for the nth time in the last few days. He choked a little before the air entered his lungs in a rush and he sighed in relief. I started breathing the same time he did, muttering 'oh thank god' against his red face. I whispered a humble 'thank you' to the sponsors, sitting there in silence with Clove holding his hand in between her small palms.

I wondered how the other tributes were holding up. After all if it weren't for my sponsors, he could have been dead, like Glimmer. I mentally thanked them for saving him but then I remembered that they had deliberately left Glimmer's body back a little longer to try and trick me most certainly. I felt hate towards the Capitol for using all of us like pawns in a chess game, sacrificing the queen.

I would not allow them to win anymore ground though. Right now was an example of me fighting back and foiling their plans. They wanted him gone so the last destruction was eliminated. They liked our sexy relationship but they loved me as their ultimate killing machine more. They would come for Cato again but I would fight them until my last breath. I would take control in this game and turn their own rules against them.

* * *

Dragging his barely conscious self back to the Cornucopia had been a tedious process especially combined with our own sore bodies and broken minds. We had both wrapped one of his arms around our shoulder but I knew I was carrying most of the weight because Clove had fallen on the floor a couple of times during the trip in exhaustion, leaving me, stumbling to support him. When it happened near the meadow for the third time, my knees didn't have the endurance to go on so I ended up on my bruised back, his passed out self on my stomach, our blood mixing as our chests touched. I thought that had been the end because I couldn't feel my legs anymore and a part of me believed we should have just settled for another camp, mid-forest, but I couldn't risk it.

When we finally stripped him down and cuddled him in our best sleeping bag, setting up the medicine and supplies inside one of the tents with the boy from District 3 watching in awe, I had left his feverish side, sprinted towards the lake in anger and jumped right in, refusing to get out for hours where I stared at my ugly, broken reflection, attacking it as if it was a monster. Clove had pleaded for me to return several times, sitting on the edge and talking to me softly, offering food and shelter, but I hadn't calmed down until I had scraped my throat off in frustration, thinking of Glimmer and Cato, insulting the Gods and punching nature for its unfairness.

The storm had started again, the rain pouring and the wind blowing, forcing her back inside by the blonde's side. I had refused to budge, throwing my clothes aside, ripping my bandages off, flinching at the pain. At some point during my rampage, I thought I was drowning because the water slushed everywhere, the rain attacking my body, making my eyes burn more than they had been since I accepted our position. I had given up on swimming when I found myself, clutching the rocky bay desperately, coughing in pain and vomiting water, my hair in my eyes and my ears blocked entirely.

I had moved to the ground, lying there pathetically against the cold surface, naked and raw. Staring at the cloudy sky, I had started talking in delirium to Gloss about how I couldn't do it anymore, watching the parachutes fly by in great quantities, falling beside me like sleet. I opened the one closest to me because I couldn't' get my lethargic body to reach for the other ones. There was medicine inside, which I let fall on the ground with a crash, concentrating on the card where Gloss' cursive handwriting was waiting for me. He seemed like he had rushed because it wasn't as loopy and symmetrical as usual:

"_Don't be discouraged. It's often the last key in the bunch that opens the lock. Fight hard, champion."_

I wanted to cry like I had on that first night, hearing him pronounce the words in my mind, his voice gruff and comforting. I missed him and the thought of his hugs managed to get me on my knees long enough to crawl next to my shredding jacket, open the jacket pocket above my heart and get out his other notes, the ones I collected with obsessive precision, lined them up by date. They were wet, sticking together and blurring the ink, but they were there and somehow laying back down on my side with the new card and blowing on them in expectation helped me forget about my pain, the hole in my chest, festering with pessimism.

I must have looked pathetic, trying to shield them under my naked skin from the pouring rain. I must have sounded pathetic, begging for him to help me, looking at the sky with my watery eyes, but he had never given up and the next capsule I opened was bigger, glinting against the slippery ground. Inside I found a t-shirt a couple of sizes too big for me and I put it on, covering my battered skin from the eyes of the Capitol, feeling the cotton material soak against my body, knowing it was his because I had worn it before. The card that time, wrapped in between his thoughtful gift said:

"_I always like walking in the rain, because no one can see me crying. It's okay to mourn your best friend's death. Keep warm."_

I cried that night though I had promised myself I wouldn't anymore. I had felt the tears follow the same path as the clear raindrops until the sky had darkened. I must have been freezing but my fever prevented me from feeling the shivers, building under my skin. My fingers had shriveled from the water, the cards clutched beneath them through the entire time now wrinkled and barely readable.

When I got his final card, I made my way back to his tent, dropping beside his trembling frame with one last sob and passing out. I didn't care that we were in the arena and I didn't care about who was keeping guard. My body felt exhausted, my mind had stopped functioning and my eyes drifted closed, staring at his eyebrows tickling his flushed cheeks. He had said there would be no moves made tonight so I settled for using every chance I had to get the energy. I had vented so it was time to get serious and step up, make both of them proud.

"_Success seems to be largely a matter of hanging on after others have let go. Time to revive yourself, little phoenix. Sleep tight in the calm night."_

* * *

Nursing Cato back to health took a toll on the pack. We did not make any hasty moves and we did not go hunting anymore. We simply stood by Cornucopia, Clove and I alternating between staying by his side, while the District 3 boy kept watch over the supplies. We tried to constantly have two of us on watch at all times because Clove was certain they would take our weakness to their advantage and come after us in an attempt to kill of our leader. I wasn't going to let that ever happen. I assumed that District 12 was recovering somewhere but there was still Thresh, scary and mean Thresh that would most likely want revenge after his treatment in the training room. How would he know about the incident though?

Waking up the next morning after having slept for more than twelve hours felt like rising from the dead. My body ached but it wasn't because of the venom that had practically flushed out of my system with the meds provided. It strained against the effort, sore and unused. I had smiled, seeing Clove in the same state, walking to me so we could both check Cato. He wasn't so lucky and his condition had not seemed ameliorate in the slightest, his swollen face contrived in pain and his body shivering in fever.

The sponsors had continued their generosity, sending parachutes more than daily, hoping to heal Cato so the action could continue. A part of me knew that the Capitol was getting frustrated and I was expecting the worst from them. Clove and I tried to be on the look out together during the night, seeing as it presented the most dangerous time. We would sit side by side, she holding her knifes and I holding my spear, cuddled in our jackets next to the fire, with the other boy sleeping in a sleeping bag and Cato in his usual tent, and look at the ominous forest. I had went back to my old jacket, throwing the blue one aside only to have a new one sent, that time by a fan who expressed her love for me as her favorite. I had not wanted to change but I had put the gift on to show my appreciation, the ruined cards went back in the pocket though now they were nothing but blank pieces of crumbled paper.

I had found Clove pleasant company and having her frame beside me, helped heal my heart from the absence of Glimmer and her contagious cheerfulness. We had gotten rid of most of her stuff to avoid the painful memoires. I realized as we discussed our philosophies, high on fatigue, that Clove and I could have been best friends had it not been for the lives we led. It was bittersweet to find people I could relate to after spending my entire childhood alone. My heart clenched every time I lay down next to Cato, his sweaty head on my chest, my fingers on his healing jaw.

Clove would try to make small talk and we had shared a lot in the past days, seeing as we were in each other's company quite frequently. She had told me about meeting Cato at the recruitment center, where he was his usual self, bossing everyone around with a pompous, boyish attitude. She had told me about how he lived in the training center, refusing to go home some nights, collapsed on the floor. She had told me about how he had confessed, immediately regressing it the next day with blushed cheeks, in a drunken game of truth or dare, that he didn't want to fuck around if he didn't love the person. I had smiled when I heard that because I could imagine a younger him, strutting around and pushing others to the floor.

She told me about her family and how she hoped to return to them because she was their only child and they couldn't have more. I was miffed to realize that not all Careers derived from broken homes. Some parents just wanted their child prepared in case luck failed them, like it had failed Clove. They didn't want to regret not giving their child every opportunity to succeed.

In return, I told her about my family and how my dad was an alcoholic and my mom too mentally deranged to even recognize her own son. She had almost cried for me then and I felt bad for having upset her but tried to comfort her by telling her about Gloss and Lilia, my stylist, about how they took care of me and picked me up when I scraped my knees. I told her about meeting my mentor, about the nights he spend with nine year old me on his lap, crying for his parents. I confessed to her that he was the only person I cared about more than my own life. At least outside the arena because inside everything was becoming muddled up. And when she had asked with a small, shy voice about the scandal rumors, I had smiled in encouragement to ease her apologizing self, telling her it wasn't true. Gloss had not touched me like that and there was nothing between us that even bordered the platonic attachment I longed for. I didn't tell her that the Capitol would do about anything to keep me isolated.

I told her about Seneca before he was the main Gamekeeper, about how he looked when he picked me ten years ago out of the line of 8-year olds waiting to be chosen for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I told her about the good times at the Capitol, running around the large rooms and being greeted by new toys every day. I also told her about the bad times, when the large rooms were training rooms and the toys, puzzles of wit and survival. I didn't tell her about the blood room or the beatings or the 24hours retreats. I didn't think she would like that much and I didn't think I would be ready to share those gems anytime soon. Some of those previously repressed memories even Gloss didn't know about.

The rest of the time I spent by Cato's side, wiping the boiling sweat of his brow, holding his shaking hand and hugging him when he woke up screaming violently, hallucinating terrible beings that I couldn't even picture. His episodes usually happened during the middle of the night when we did not expect them.

Once, I had fallen asleep by his side and he had given me a heart palpitation when he had jumped up screaming and practically clawing his eyes out. I had stumbled to drag his hands away from his face, earning a couple of scratches in the process. That night I had tried to talk to him, plead and kiss him to make him stop but it was only when I had hugged him from the back, leaning my head against his shoulder and whispering words of comfort that he calmed down, dropping back into his state of feverish frenzy. From that moment on I knew how to handle his attacks and every time I felt him thrash and whimper, I was right there, offering my touch and stopping his struggles before they even started. I did not know how conscious he was of my presence but I would like to think he knew that it was I taking care of him. Some part of him felt it because he didn't respond the same way with Clove.

* * *

Then came the day we had decided that we would take some action as the Careers because the others might have started thinking we were getting lazy and therefore less dangerous. I was walking close to the border of the forest because I thought I had seen the redhead, prowling our grounds again, and I wanted to stop her before she got close enough to observe the damage. Spear in hand I had run over, looking through the dark shrubbery while Clove stood in front of the supplies watching over the main area. We would not let her steal that easily that time; we would grab her and kill her, eliminating the obvious threat in our vicinity.

We must have been running on steam, fatigued from the day's stress because she sprinted in between us, heading straight for pile and we missed her for her first few steps. The delay caused us precious seconds and though we spotted her appearance, I was too far away to possibly think about reaching there on time. Clove screamed at me to get back and I looked in surprise at the fiery mane as it broke the darkness of the night. We both rushed over to try and intercept her escape, Clove already aiming for her head and missing because the girl was agile. She might not have gotten the highest score but she could do one thing and that was sneak like fox. She must have seen us coming because she made a beeline for the forest without even nearing the supplies. The conniving bitch knew about our trap and she knew well that it would take time to avoid it so she settled for frazzling us with her appearance.

Clove was inching closer and I wasn't that far behind when she headed for the tree line in panic at our perseverance. A part of me wondered if we could chase her in the forest and eliminate the nuisance once and for all. I screamed for the District 3 kid to wake up so he could take charge while continuing the chase. I saw him stumble out of the sleeping bag, frightened, and I instructed him to stay put and watch over the camp. He was too sleepy for my liking and I was praying that Cato would be safe.

The redhead was shadowed by the forest and Clove was right behind her entering the darkness, cursing like I had never seen her before and threatening to do horrible stuff to the fox-girl. I looked back once before jumping through the bush and climbing the incline that led into the forest.

I screamed for Clove because I didn't want us to be divided. That was probably the girl's strategy. It was very dark outside and the moon had disappeared so I couldn't see anything that wasn't in my general vicinity. The Capitol was probably on their feet with excitement that an action scene was approaching.

Clove yelled back and I followed her voice in the darkness of the forest, holding my spear ready to sink into somebody's skin, preferably the redhead's. I almost tripped multiple times because the terrain was so uneven and I was practically stumbling in absolute darkness. I kept screaming for Clove knowing that we were alerting her of our location. I doubted she had gone far because she was as blind as us. Knowing her she was probably lurking in the dark, waiting for us to get close enough for her to cut our feet off.

I felt somebody grab me from behind, closing my mouth with a delicate hand, and I thought that it was her so I rammed my elbow against the flesh behind me, struggling and readying to pick up my spear until I realized it was Clove, doubling over in pain and cursing me in a thousand different colorful words.

"You fucker, it's me!" she grunted, keeping her voice low and I hadn't recognized how rapidly my heart was beating until I had enough time to breath. I raised myself straight, still looking around as I touched her elbow and helped her stand.

"You gave me a fucking heart attack, Clo," I whispered back roughly, pulling her to scout the area. She chuckled slightly before retuning to the seriousness of the situation and we both stood side by side, looking opposite ways. My adrenaline was fluctuating and I knew in my gut in the next few seconds something was going to happen. My stomach dropped at the realization. I extended my arm to search for Clove and found nothing.

The moment I turned around to face her, I heard the piercing scream of Cato all the way back to camp. I should have never left him alone! Clove screeched behind me, pulled back into the darkness of the forest and I was so overwhelmed that I was frozen in shock for a few seconds before I jumped, threw myself at the ground to grasp Clove. All three of us fell on top of each other and the grappling commenced as we grasped at the air, aiming punches at random angles, completely blind and deadly vicious. I could hear Clove screaming and thrashing and I could hear the other girl whimpering and grunting.

At the same time I could hear Cato's pleading yelps in the background and my adrenaline was exploding, my fury taking over. Was she part of an alliance? Had this been their plan? Was Cato in danger? I had to save him above all. He was the most important one. In the mean time, I grabbed the redhead by her leg, crushing it under my hands, and she let out a terrifying shrill. Clove was on her then, driving a knife on the other's flesh. More screams and sobs as we both worked blindly like surgeons to figure out how to kill her. It was true we were elongating her pain and that wasn't on purpose seeing as all I wanted to do was run back to camp to check if he was all right. I was getting exasperated with every passing second that the cannon was not heard. My eyes were tearing up in frustration because my heart was seizing at having to hear his pained bawls. I trembled, not letting myself believe that someone was torturing him.

"Why don't you people ever die?" I practically sobbed, grabbing her hair and dragging her head towards me as she squirmed and thrashed, making the job even more difficult. Hee nails clawed hard into my arm and I knew I was bleeding—all three of us were probably—because the stench was setting of my phobia. Clove sensed my urgency and she hurried to slash at everything she could, accidentally getting my leg until she realized she had made a mistake when I howled in pain, momentarily letting go to apply pressure to the wound. I could feel the wide gash of torn skin under my palm. The redhead chuckled maniacally as we struggled to pin her down. I finally managed to grasp her neck and broke it similarly to what I had done with my first kill, signifying a 360 rotation only the second time the weight of responsibility broke my fear and made me stronger. Her last screech echoed through the air and between that and Cato's protests, we barely heard the cannon.

As soon as it exploded it was as if I was racing and I grabbed Clove's sleeve, dragging her behind me towards the light of the meadow. We sprinted back, out of breath and injured. I could hear her hissing behind me and I could feel the burning pain of the cut and the slippery liquid run down my thigh. Reaching the Cornucopia I was met halfway by the District 3 boy who looked terrified. He raised his hands in the air stuttering and motioning for the tent where all the noise was coming from. He was alive, that in itself meant something. The way he panicked, becoming useless, would eventually be his downfall.

"I don't know what's wro-wrong. I didn't do anything. I don't—" He kept stating, trembling in fear at my angry face and our bloody hands. We must have looked worst than I thought and I wouldn't be surprised if I found out we had some serious injuries after that encounter.

"Out of my way!" I yelled in his face, pulling him aside by the clothes to continue running for the tent, needing to see for myself that nothing had happened to him.

When I entered the tent and fell on my knees, starting to create a puddle of blood. I saw he was trashing in his blankets, his eyes wide open and glassy. He had hurt himself quite a bit because his face was bleeding and there were scrapes on his chest. But what I found most touching and heartbreaking was that he was screaming my name. I moved close dragging him to my chest with my bloody hands like the day I had saved his life and kissing his head.

"I'm here, baby. I'm right here. You're safe," I murmured against his temple and he fell in silence, his voice raw. He continued to whimper and shuffle but his hands had found their way to my shirt and he was clutching that instead of his own flesh. My shoulders slumped and I sighed heavily at the silence that ensued. He was fine; he was okay. Clove was fine and the redhead was dead.

Clove entered the tent and I looked up at her worried face, giving her a nod to tell her that he was well. We made the decision then, looking at our morbid faces and the blood covering all three of us, to not embark on any more risky adventures until he was better. It would not take too long, seeing that his condition had already ameliorated, but I would make sure to keep the Career flag waving until he could hold it himself.

"Let's clean up," Clove urged, softly, but I stayed put, refusing to let go of him "He's calm now, Marvel. We need to wash the blood off."

I obeyed, partially because I was too disgusted to object and partially because I knew it would attract predators. As we washed up, we saw the couple of parachutes dropping fro the sky and I placed my hand above my heart, looking at the sky and bowing in respect. I thanked them after every gift they sent because frankly that's what was keeping Cato alive.


	12. Asmodeus' Luxuria Part II

**Chapter 12 – Asmodeus' Luxuria**

**Part II/III**

Marvel's POV

When he first woke up, I couldn't believe he was actually himself. After having many encounters with his delusional side, I had gotten used to getting no replies when I saw his blue eyes, looking around lost. Sometimes he would be awake for hours, staring into space with no recognition of anything that happened around him. Those lucky times it was easier to feed him because he would open his mouth robotically, still not looking at us straight in the eye. I did it more often than Clove because she couldn't handle his pathetic state.

When we weren't as fortunate to have him partially present, we attempted to blindly insert IV-s. I despised doing it with all my heart because the ultimate precision it required made it impossible for an amateur like myself to get it right the first time. It usually ended up hurting him more, his arm bleeding and my hands shaking too violently against the thin needle. The first time had been so bad that Clove had to calm me down, hugging my hands to herself when I rushed out of the tent, repeatedly stabbing the liquid bag with a knife, feeling the nourishment run down my fingers and drip on the ground. He had told me to stop that time, moaning in his sleep at the pain. Needless to say it had taken at least another day of raining IV-s before I could convince my insecure self to try again, Gloss' vague instructions held tightly in my other hand.

Seeing the blue in his face light up made me automatically smile, bringing the soup forward, because it meant today would be an easy day. I had been worrying myself restless about the prospect of 'operating' as soon as I woke up. That time though, when he analyzed the surroundings, he looked straight at me and smiled slightly at my sleepy face, trying to blink the fatigue away. I had startled awake from the nightmare, thinking he was having another hallucinating episode but was shocked to find him conscious and staring at me sleeping beside him, his body not having moved an inch.

"How are you feeling, babe?" I asked my usual question for the hundredth time, yawning widely and expecting no reply, the usual answer, but that time he surprised me again. His eyebrows furrowed in questioning and he tried to shift up, grunting, annoyed at his own weakness. I froze for the first few seconds of him moving, unable to let myself hope, while he looked at me in annoyance, motioning for help.

"What the fuck happened?" He questioned, looking at me and running his eyes up my body in his usual check-up. His face etched in concern, marring in a frown at the newly obtained scratches, running down my arms like zigzags and the healing scar on my thigh, running from my inner thigh to the opposite side of my knee, shining in the dim light. His eyes focused on the scar under my mouth, small and raw, as he exclaimed under his breath in a lost tone, "You're hurt."

"You're up!" I exclaimed in return, ignoring his observation, too excited to think about answering his question. I didn't want to think about the bad stuff yet with his mouth whispering things other than 'help' and 'no'. I rushed over to his side, crawling on my knees to sit by his frame, gently touching his forehead and grinning when I felt his fever had broke. Maybe he was ready; he was going to be okay again. I wouldn't have to hold the entire burden on my back. I respected him immensely for being out leader after I had experienced the pain and paranoia that came with the job. I was done fighting him for authority. All I wanted was for him to be up again so I could cuddle by his side and hide behind his strong back. I looked up to him with wide, hopeful eyes, wanting so badly for him to notice me.

"Fuck. I feel paralyzed. How long was I out for?" he asked next, grunting and moving his limbs with effort before grabbing my hand and pulling it away from his face but not letting go all together. I let him drag it with him next to his body, squeezing his fingers slightly with a blush. I hadn't noticed I had spaced out, staring at his lively eyes until he shook me out of my fantasy. "Marv?"

"Sorry. Around a week. Don't try moving too much," I whispered back, cringing when he went against my advice. He exclaimed shocked, his eyes incredulous, before attempting one more time to sit up, his stomach tensing, his six-pack pronounced, as his arms moved to his sides. I gently pushed him down again, watching him collapse against the sweaty sheets, shaking my head in sadness. He pouted towards me.

"You were practically dead when we found you…you still need some time." I gulped in memory, not letting myself think of the possibilities, his deformed face too fresh in my mind from my recent nightmare. "Clove and I have been treating you ever since the tracker-jacker incident. Do you remember? The sponsors have been nice."

"I might have re-lived it a thousand times," He admitted gingerly, closing his eyes and sighing. I felt bad for bringing it up so I cleared my throat to get him to snap out of it because it was over. He was fine now and I would never let that happened again. When he met my eyes, staring apologetically as if he had done wrong, I smiled softly, smoothing the lines of his face with my compassionate expression. He sighed again, touching the sleeve of my jacket and murmuring, "New, huh?" to which I nodded guilty. He only smiled back in understanding.

"What's happened? Are you guys all right? Who did this to you?" He rushed through all the other questions, overwhelming me with his sudden determination. He wanted to regain some grounding, lost in the sea of memories. I understood he wanted to get back on track with the game, feeling guilty for having missed out, but I feared too much information would stress him, make him think he had to stand up even with the searing pain to sacrifice himself for us. He had not fully recovered yet as much as it hurt me to admit it. I could see the strain he put his mind through even at the slightest movements—I could see he was trying to hide it behind his eyes as much as he could.

"We're fine. We had a little struggle with the redhead the other day, the one that kept lurking—nothing too serious that the sponsors couldn't handle. She's dead. Other than that everybody else has made it out alive," I explained patiently, trying to keep the tone light and conversational, noting the disappointment in his eyes before rushing to mend the situation. "We haven't gone hunting much. It has been slow."

"How many?" He whispered, looking down at my hands, both lightly tracing his scarred palm, the one he held his sword with, the one he had killed those children with. I knew what he was asking and I wondered momentarily if he needed reassuring or he had honestly lost track. I brought his hand to my mouth, kissing it lightly and hiding the answer behind it.

"Eight, I suppose." Close but not close enough. "Four of us, four of them."

I felt his flinch and squinted my eyes in effort to avoid the emotion in his eyes as he retracted his hand back, covering his eyes with it and rubbing his forehead. I was happy to note he was starting to move better, the vitality returning to his limbs.

"Shit," He cursed, slumping back on the ground and shielding his eyes with his forearm again. It was taking him some time to take it all in but at least he had reacted well to all the information. I had my fingers crossed in hope that he would not bring up the topic Clove and I had tried hard to avoid all that time. He could read me though and it was as if he knew exactly what I biting my lip at.

"I'm sorry about Glimmer," He whispered and I felt my bottom lip tremble, taking in a deep breath before speaking again in a poignant tone, shrugging to remove the guilt contorting his features.

"I am too but you can only save so many." His eyes broke down in front of me, one of his hands subconsciously clenching against his chest where I assumed his heart was criticizing him, beating harshly against the trembling ribcage. "And I am glad I saved you."

I smiled sadly at my last statement while he looked at me in shock. I couldn't stand the surprise, my cheeks flushing against the attention, so I leaned down to burry my face in his neck, my arms wrapping around his torso. The motion felt so fluid that I had no time to hesitate, scorn myself against the need for contact. I was so relieved to see him well again that I couldn't hold back the grin that was invading my face. He startled in surprise for the first few seconds as I felt the heat of his skin and the smell of his hair. I clutched his shoulders in fear of being rejected again. He wouldn't push me away that easily then.

"You had us so worried. You weren't getting better and you kept waking up. You kept screaming in pain and we didn't know what to do! We were doing our best. I was here by your side every night, praying that the next dosage would work, holding your hand and changing your towels. And now you're finally awake! You're here. I am so glad. Shit! I am so fucking glad," I rambled rapidly to silence the hammering of my scared heart, not realizing I had started the monologue until he started to shush me softly. I let out one dry sob, grasping the back of his neck and kissing his shoulder where I was leaning my head on. He was here so I could break. I could shatter then because he would put me back together again.

His arms came to wrap around my torso and his fingers traced the gashes that the redhead had left on my back during her desperate struggle for her life. Every time I struggled to rub ointments onto them I imagined her feral face, her hair blazing in the darkness, as she cursed at me. The night I killed her I had the most vivid nightmare of my time in the arena. It was as if my mind had created an alternate reality where I had stepped out of my body. I thought feeling death embrace me had been bad but somehow watching myself cut to pieces, collapsing on the floor, ended up being worse. The entire dream had been silenced until the very end where she had said, in that raspy, desperate voice she died with.

"_You will die at the hand of the one you tried so desperately to save."_

I had woken up in shudders, repeating to myself that the premonitions of my insane mind were not to be trusted, as I stared at his innocent sleepy face, sweat dripping down my brow and making my vision blurry. I couldn't think of the end.

"It's good that you killed her because if she had been alive, I would have made sure she suffered a long and painful death for this," he whispered, contemplating out loud, traces of anger making their way through his voice. His strong arms wrapped around me once more before he pulled his head back to look at me, our noses touching sensually. His blue eyes were filled with his usual determination and I smiled, knowing he was back for real.

Before I knew he was ready, he had attached his lips to mine and I moaned upon contact half in protest and half in pleasure. He was more feverish and insistent than the first time, the time that his lips had trembled in hesitation, fluttering like butterflies against my immobile own. I knew because Clove had told me, giggling as I burned in jealousy, that he had fucked many, taken them against the walls of the training center, but that night when he swayed back and forth towards my curious face he looked as inexperienced as a virgin, demure and lost. I didn't need his drunken, truth-or-dare playing self or mischievous Clove to tell me he had not kissed the ones he had penetrated, sweaty and sore, lost in the passion of violence. I already knew it because when I looked down at his pants that experienced part knew exactly what it wanted, tenting his sweats, while the rest of him shivered in loss, unable to comprehend the aftermath of the intimate action he had just performed.

At the moment, he was letting his lust control his actions. His hands had moved to my shirt, pulling me forward with a grunt. I almost tumbled over his frame but managed to stop myself, supporting my body by placing both my hands on either side of his head. We had not stopped kissing once, our lips slippery, biting and sucking, and I knew that if I didn't end it soon, my brain would get misty and I wouldn't be able to stop because for the past few nights since he ever gave me a taste, I had been wanting that exact same thing and badly. A part of me liked that I was not having nightmares about corpses anymore but the other part did not think waking up frustrated and unsatisfied with his name on my lips his thoughts on my pants was any better. It was embarrassing and I had thanked god for his lost deliriums the time I woke up, white, sticky sperm splattered across my crotch as he gazed at me blankly while I struggled to wipe.

He was nipping softly at my bottom lip, trying to get me to be involved in the kiss, noticing my hesitation. I had opened my mouth for him instinctively but my tongue was being shy, opting to hide and not be very social. His hands had not let go of my shirt, pulling it up inch by inch to reveal my stomach to the rest of the world. The cameras, Jesus, everyone was watching us eat each other's faces off and though I kept thinking all of these thoughts, I couldn't get my body to pull away. I couldn't get my pants to loosen up with his wanton moans pulling me in to his exploring lips.

His hands had managed to wrap around my waist, keeping me in place as his fingers trailed the inch of skin between my pants and my ruffled shirt. He was weak and drowsy but somehow he still managed to nail me to the spot. I was kissing back, slowly and gingerly, but I was nonetheless. I hadn't given him any signal that I was uncomfortable. On the contrary, I had let loose a little grunt when his fingers had traced the pattern of my tattoo, whispering 'beautiful' against my mouth, my eyes closing at the tickling sensation of his moving, petal lips when he formed the syllables.

He pulled back, letting his tongue flutter to touch my lips one last time before he settled down, looking at me through a sultry smirk. He was telling me, 'If you were underestimating me that first night, then how's this?' He was pulling me in with his magnetic touch. His eyes had dilated so much that the blue was barely visible and his cheeks were flushed in ecstasy. He was so alluring and at the moment, crouching on top of him, dominant and poised, I lost all rationale because I had to take advantage of the hierarchy toppling over. He had never, would never, be that docile when it came to any of our interactions.

One of my hands moved to the back of his hair and I pulled his head forward roughly, crushing my lips against his so hard that I thought I heard him growl before kissing back. The second time the gentleness had completely dissipated and his hands were practically ripping my shirt, crushing it in his fist, and his teeth ripping my lips, splattering blood on his face, bright against his pale cheeks. There were grunts and moans, combined with a lot of slurps, but I had no idea who was doing what anymore because our mouths were practically attached and any noise seemed to be coming from that shared space. He was fighting to get the upper hand but not as hard as he would if he were fully conscious. He whimpered when I pushed him down possessively, trapping his head between the floor and my face, and for a second I thought I was raping him. He might have been too drugged up to realize the situation and there I was taking advantage of his slow reaction time and his shattered guard. Did I even have consent?

With that morbid thought, I pulled back almost in panic and he looked startled, his eyes widening from their droopy position to try and figure out if he had done something wrong. His lips were raw and wet and his eyes lidded, bedroom eyes. His entire body was screaming with lust and it was hard to contain myself when it was so clearly obvious that he wanted me and he wanted it, the madness that was consuming us both.

I pulled, back sitting on the floor and shaking my head slowly. His hands slid from my skin and settled by his sides where he made a futile attempt to sit up, grunting in pain and falling back down, his arms shaking with the effort. I instinctively moved to help him because it hurt to see him struggle. I placed a hand under his arm and the other slid under his back to raise him in a sitting position and lean him on the edge. He hissed in pain and I whispered an apology as I adjusted the covers on him to cover his naked form. It had been easier to treat him without the clothes especially when he was burning with fever. At the moment, I knew one look under the covers would have me falling in oblivion, waking up pleasurably sore and thoroughly fucked. He seemed dejected by the turn in events; his entire face had fallen and for a second, he looked insecure.

"What's the matter?" He made himself ask when he noticed I wouldn't be starting our action again anytime soon. His voice fluctuated in uncertainty and I had to fix the situation before he assumed I was attacking his ego. "I was enjoying that."

"You're drugged…beyond belief, Cato," I murmured through my teeth, looking at my feet because I didn't know if I was ready to look at him again without having to comfort him, most likely using my sex appeal. I did not move away from where his weight was settled on me and I gently stroked his back by reflex without knowing that I was doing it. I did not worry about him being on my lap because my erection has long deflated, the tension in the atmosphere turning awkward.

"Oh, shut up!" He snapped heatedly and I looked down to see him frown and glare at the ceiling of the tent in anger. His eyes went back to their normal size and he pulled all his limbs as far away from me as he could muster with the weakness holding him back. I could see he still had trouble moving around and I found it appalling that I had even attempted to use that against him to regain control. It was as if some primal, animalistic instinct had driven towards wanting to dominate him, mark him, like he had marked me during training. No matter what the emotion had been, it didn't matter because he was upset and I was the one to make him upset. I had to reconcile.

"Cato, please," I started, pleading for him not to start another argument as soon as he opened his eyes. It had been too long and too painful without him around and I couldn't let that be our first conversation. I inched closer to him and he stiffened but couldn't move away, trapped beneath the thick blankets of the sleeping bag. I gently touched his forehead, brushing his hair away and willing him to look back at me. His eyes turned towards mine and I could tell that my touch had had the opposite effect because his eyebrows were furrowed, creating lines on his smooth forehead and his lips were snarled in disgust. The look had my heart shattering.

"Stop teasing me, Marvel. God dammit! You either want it or you don't. Make up your mind already because quite frankly this is driving me insane! It hurts, you know?" He screamed at me and I was caught so off-guard that I had to sit there looking like a fool with my mouth agape and my eyes watery and wide. I could not believe he thought that I was on the fence about our relationship. I thought I had made it clear that I was very sexually attracted to him and that I would practically let him do anything to me. I was slipping dangerously off the edge because he was urging me down, calling for me all the way from the bottom of the pit. I knew I would jump eventually; I just didn't know how high it was and whether I could make it alive.

It was scary to admit the thought as it was, naked of all the confusion, but I found it true seeing as I did not find the need protect myself when he approached me. I did not flinch when his fingers traced my neck, the vulnerable jugular. I trusted him way more than my body, my mind or the Capitol, who thought owned both, was comfortable with. I cared about him; I wanted him safe. I had something for him, an emotion that I couldn't identify yet but that was there, connecting me to him. It was there paralyzing me from thinking he could be dangerous.

"_You will die at the hand of the one you tried so desperately to save."_

"I do want you, I mean it—you. How could you think I'm backing out? I know it hurts. You think being lead on like a fucking dog for a week didn't hurt?!" I exclaimed frantic before he got too enthralled with the idea that I was not up for this, whatever this was that we had going on. My heart banged against my chest to wake me up after I mentioned the second sentence, my eyes sitting annoyingly. My chest ached in regret. I hadn't meant for that to escape but it had and now he was staring at me in pity, his lip between his teeth and his cheeks cringing when his eyes lowered down to my neck where the mark had once been. We both spoke simultaneously, cancelling each other out.

"I didn't mean tha—"

"You're right."

"No, I'm not. I was being as much of a flirt as you. It was a low blow and I'm sorry. I take it back but that is the only thing I'm regretting," I whispered gently, my voice sincere, my charisma not letting me down that time of emergency because he was blocked and I needed to get him going. I wouldn't mock him again.

My hand found his face and I forced him to look at me, our faces inches apart. I had to show him because words meant shit to Cato. My lips found his and I was the one ready to devour him before he pulled back, leaving me empty and moving away silently. I opened my eyes and looked at him, pouting in sadness. I didn't like to be rejected especially when I made the moves myself.

"Then _please_ stop running away. Give me a chance," he murmured, looking at me no longer in anger but in genuine concern and pleading. At the moment, I didn't care about the cameras or the weaknesses that I was showing to the sponsors. I didn't care about Glimmer's death or Clove's position outside of the tent. I didn't care about my fears that he would betray me or that I would hurt him. All I cared about was being with him in that instant and giving him what he was begging for: shedding all the layers, collapsing the wall and letting him see that he meant more to me than anything I have ever had or lost. He meant more to me than Gloss and him, Cato in his blond glory, I could actually have.

I moved to hug him, gently settling on his chest like a young, scared child. I knew he was looking at me in confusion but I hid my face on the strong and warm skin, my hair falling to cover my eyes. Being close to him and hearing his breathing and heartbeat gave me contentment. It was the main reason I liked crawling next to him and sleeping by his side when I had those terrible nights that the past decided to become the present. It was amazing how just his touch could relax me and ward off my anxiety attacks.

"I like you so much that I don't know what to do about it at times because I've never done this before and though I pretend to be good at it, it scares me shitless to think I could disappoint," I admitted wetly, using my stupid vocabulary, through gritted teeth, further sinking in his chest to make up for my mind being dragged out of that dark hole it hid in. I could feel my face heat up more than his fever and I bet he could sense my embarrassment too. My breath was starting to shallow, inviting an attack, but he was too close and his aura had wrapped around me comfortably forbidding anything from happening. I hoped he would not be cruel about my confession, mocking it and probing for answers.

"That kiss back there was the best fucking kiss I have ever experienced…" he started to mutter against my hair, making me blush, before his voice lowered and he mumbled the rest of the sentence quickly, "It was the first one I've had too so I guess, who am I to judge?"

He tried to shift a little without hurting too much and one of his hands came up to remove the hair from my face. I knew what he was trying to do so I hurriedly shut my eyes tight when the light was made visible. I heard the rumble of a chuckle make its way out of his chest and the hand on my hair started to weave through in encouragement. I mentally purred at his attempts but it was not enough to make me budge from my technique. He noticed that I was not going to give up my attempt to hide and he countered my stubbornness using a low blow.

"Marv, you're right on my bruise—it kills, babe," he grunted, pretending to cough in pain and I jumped up before I had time to realize he was playing with me. He could be so manipulative when he wanted to. I missed having him passed out and mumbling in delirium. I looked at him, cheated in horror, and he shrugged innocently, looking at my eyes with his sparkling, blue ones. I snapped my eyes down and pushed him pathetically, annoyed, exhaling in anger.

"You are _such_ a dick!" I whined loudly, pouting and he chuckled slightly, sliding to lay down on the mattress again, releasing a small grunt on the way down.

"I don't like when you hide from me. It makes me think you don't trust me," He explained, looking away to give me space to observe him and regain my composure. I had been told that my eyes were my Achilles' heel and I had to try to avoid making a decision with them in times of mental dilemma. He seemed tired and I realized he had not recovered yet but he was making improvements. Soon, we would have him leading us again and everything would be all right.

"I'm not hiding anymore," I whispered, moving by his side and watching him turn around to look at me. I held strong, maintaining his gaze and he smiled at me, a small, shy smile that he could only pull off when he was really in the mood. I smiled back at him, moving to touch his hand lightly. I needed him to know that I was strong now. I wasn't that scared, pompous boy he first met. He had opened my eyes and I saw that somehow not everything I did was predicted by the Capitol, therefore not under their tyrannical control. They hadn't seen this coming.

"Good," he murmured, using his hands to pull me towards him again and I did not hesitate to offer myself to him, kissing his mouth and licking his soft lips. He yanked my shirt forcibly signaling for me to come closer and I lay beside him, careful to not climb on top of him where I could agitate his sore body. He grunted in approval as we continued to make-out, my hand exploring his chest flexing under my touch and showing off the sturdiness of muscle. A part of me imagined how it would feel to have those strong contours slide frictionally against my own. His hand had moved under my shirt, spreading his fiery touch to the goose bumps on my skin. I mewled when his mouth moved to my neck, my hand inching its way down his body in interest, slipping under the covers without shame, smirking at the camera above us. He tensed in anticipation, continually planting wet, butterfly kisses down my neck and towards my shoulder bone, planting small red hickeys along the way.

I heard the camera zoom in, whispering silently "I dare you" at the same time that Cato moaned "Please" against my neck. I knew who I would listen to without having to think about it. I smiled against his skin, turning my eyes away from the Capitol forever.

The moment my fingers touched his engorged member, he growled viciously, sinking his teeth deep into my neck and sucking furiously, his hand holding me down hard enough to bruise my hip. I whimpered without pulling back, knowing fully well he was performing the same ritual again but now with twice the enthusiasm and my actual permission. My neck ached in pain and sparkled in pleasure. The hand on my hip drew circles on my skin. I felt myself grow painfully hard, my erection tight against my underpants. I moaned low in my throat as he continued to make his mark and I felt him jerk in my hand, wetting it with precum in response to my verbal approval.

"You're mine now and I'm never letting you go," he spoke gruffly against my neck after having licked the abused skin in apology. His voice was husky and he seemed to be burning more than before, "I don't share."

I was left speechless at his announcement but I felt my heart flutter in excitement and I smiled, letting go of him long enough to touch his neck and bring his face to mine again. I couldn't get enough of him—I just wanted to express every feeling he gave me, every spaz attack my nerves suffered because of his doing. I wanted him to know what my heart was screaming and then whisper it to me because I couldn't understand. I had never felt that way before.

He pushed me down, crawling on top of me and bruising my lips. His hand settled on the front of my pants and my breath caught in my throat. I hissed in pleasure, my eyes momentarily rolling back. He grasped me harder through the layers of clothing and I practically screamed at the friction, jerking up but he pulled back leaving me once again displeased. It seemed as if he was only checking that I desired him as much as he craved me because he grinned, unable to keep a straight face at seeing my flushed cheeks and my salivating lips.

I had not seen him that happy ever and I loved that I could give him that sort of joy. His mouth went for my Adam's apple and I was relaxing back, enjoying his ministrations, my fingers rolling down the shape of his body to settle on his bum, the one I had seen so many times without being able to touch. I groaned when he reached a soft spot, grasping his left cheek, as he murmured 'kinky' chuckling. I slapped him lightly for the comment.

"Marvel! Wakie, wakie. Don't forget, pretty boy!" Clove announced from outside the tent and I flinched in surprise, having forgotten she was even there. I tried to sit up but Cato had settled on me, growling at the interruption and refusing to budge.

"Shit. You need your shot," I muttered, trying to squirm myself out of the position. I had not realized he had unbuttoned my pants until I stood up, pulling the wrinkled shirt down and ruffling my hair. He glared at me from where I had placed him on the cool grass.

"How much longer?" he complained, testing to see if he could get himself back in bed. He managed to raise his torso on his arms before yelping, dropping back on the floor almost face first. I cursed, picking him up and noticing he was sweating heavily and shaking in fever. I should have never let myself get that excited. He was not in shape and if it weren't for Clove we would have missed the dosage. We were only a few minutes late and the symptoms were already re-emerging.

"Couple more shots, maybe three," I answered his question while he got back into his wrinkled sheets, pulling them up to his chin in shivers. He frowned at my response, knowing him he probably wanted to be on his feet as soon as possible, hating the fact that he had to depend on others. I rushed outside, obtaining the syringe and a knowing smirk, accompanied by a stare at my newly formed mark, before taking my place next to him and motioning for him to offer his hand.

"I thought you dispensed it on my thigh," he questioned not out of interest but out of need to make conversation, as he spread his arm. If I didn't know any better, I would think he was nervous around needles. That was technically the first one he had to endure fully conscious. The other ones I had shot up had been indeed on his thigh most of the time when he was speaking in his sleep or moaning in pain and thrashing in bed.

"I try to alternate so your legs don't get too numb," I explained, knowing he wasn't listening to the words just hearing the tone of my voice. His fingers wrapped around the material of my pants as I held his arm ready to stab him again. I heard him a draw a quick breath and I ushered him to relax, before driving the pen on his bicep and gulping when he screamed a couple of seconds after impact when the needle broke skin. His other fist slammed against the bed sheets before he could control his breathing.

"It fucking kills. The needle is thicker than a bull's penis," He grunted under his breath, glaring at my grinning face.

"It probably doesn't help that I don't have experience either," I answered, discarding the rest of the pen on the floor, kissing his drenched forehead as he pointed towards the stack of used needles, gathering unattractively in the corner.

"It doesn't. Is that safe? Throwing contaminated needles around?" He asked, furring his eyebrows in disapproval and pursing his lips. I could tell the pain was subsiding but I continued to indulge him with conversation until he felt sleepy.

"What are we going to get? AIDS, assuming we live long enough for the virus to even activate in our systems," I heard myself sarcastically snort, regretting my sentence when I saw his pained eyes, looking at me accusingly, screaming angrily 'why do you have to mention death?' I gulped the rest of my bitter vent down my throat, kissing his forehead and whispering an apology.

He nodded, turning towards me, urging me in bed with him by pulling my shirt. He would never admit when he needed my comfort verbally; he was too strong for that but he had his ways of expressing his emotions. I knew I had to make it up to him after having ruined his mood with my last explosion.

Sleep would take him soon but I indulged him, climbing under the sheets with him and petting his hair away from his sticky forehead as his eyes fluttered closed. I could feel the effects settling in and his body relaxed in relief, the adrenaline easing his pain. I kissed his temple again, waiting for him to fall into slumber so I could take over Clove's shift. I had not had any sleep that night but I didn't care. The pleasure of seeing him again had erased all traces of fatigue.

His body fell into the slow rhythm and I thought he was already unconscious but he spoke to me one last time and I looked down to read his lips because his speech got jumbled when he was drugged. That must have been why I didn't quite catch what he said because it sounded like,

"I love you."

But it couldn't have been that.

* * *

Clove screamed for me the day he finally recovered and I rushed back from my position in the middle of the woods, setting traps incase my personal bounty hunter also known as Thresh decided to pay me a visit. There was something about that boy that scared me; some part of my subconscious knew he would do severe damage to one us. Prevention was better than cure though so I would try my hardest to keep him at bay.

At first I thought he needed me again because lately I was the only one who could calm him down. Deep inside I knew he was better these days and that most of his demands were caused from his need for me to be beside him because he was alone and not because he was having a nightmare. He was sneaky about it though. Sometimes, I knew he was conscious enough to understand his surroundings but he would still pretend he needed soothing. At those times, I would roll my eyes and hug him, verbalizing my disapproval for his immature techniques while he pointedly ignored me, pretending to be delirious. You would think he would know that after spending all that time with him in that state I was a pro at telling the difference. I don't think he cared. I think he liked that I knew—it amused him.

At other times, he would try and get the situation to heat up again, casually running his hand up my thigh or leaning way to close to my forbidden area. Those times I had to be careful with him because I didn't want to be swept away by his libido before he was ready to act on his insinuations.

The Capitol had sent us the kiss of death that night after he had first woken up. I knew about the signal but I had never seen it happen in my lifetime. Apparently it had been an old-fashioned ideal and the tributes in the recent years where either too young or too self-centered for it to be necessary.

I had blushed bright red, seeing what was inside the capsule, and Clove had shed tears of laughter at my embarrassed face. Gloss must have been uncomfortable because the note seemed rushed and awkward, the quote leaving me whispering 'what the fuck' much to Clove's amusement.

"_Sex is more exciting on the screen and between the pages than between the sheets."_

Wrapped in shiny, colorful packs, they had sent condoms and not just any condoms, glow-in the dark condoms. In Capitol language, that statement meant the audience wanted smut and you would either provide it willingly or they would consider sending a pack of horny dogs to anally rape you until everyone got their pornographic satisfaction. The latter option did not seem as attractive to me as the first but the entire concept scared me shitless.

I didn't want them anywhere near my relationship with Cato. Those feelings were pure, innocent and not to be tainted by the Capitol's perverted desires and repulsive sadism. I would be the only one that benefited for that relationship; for once in my life I would be selfish. They wouldn't ever get the chance to use him like they used me. They had already destroyed his life enough, bringing him up as a Career, convincing him to volunteer. They might have not gotten their hands physically on him but that didn't mean they had not altered him mentally, persuaded him to think like them, become less than human.

I knew I would have to tell him about the signal at some point but I needed to prepare myself before because in the chance that he wanted to obey, I would need to make a decision between fighting and submitting. Submitting was not in my blood but fighting Cato had suddenly become impossible and I feared the moment when he would turn towards me with that same lethal look and point his sword at my throat. Would I be able to fight back? Would I be able to hold my ground? And even in the chance that I overpowered him, would I be able to kill him? Would I be able to watch the life drain from his eyes when I had fought with sweat and tears to keep it there and protect that burning flame?

Running over to see him on his feet and smirking at me with that same sly smile again placed my usual grin on my face. He looked better than ever, his fever had disappeared for some time and all the red, raw stings had faded into oblivion. His eyes had retained their usual clear blue color and now they looked more alive than before because he seemed overjoyed to be back. They slithered up my body, knowing that they could finally have what they had been visually exploring for so long.

I stopped a few steps away, just standing there and looking at him in surprise, suddenly scared of our interactions. We had grown so close in the past couple of days and it felt as if we were moving backwards, back to square one. I didn't want to believe that the progress I had made had only been possible with the drugged up, non-aggressive Cato. I wondered if he regretted anything he did and I felt the guilt churning in my stomach at having let myself hope. My hands moved to clench my pants instinctively and I bit my lip. Clove was staring at me in confusion, shaking her head and questioning what had gotten into me. She motioned grandiosely towards him again, grinning and raising her eyebrows in expectation.

The worst part of my anxiety attacks was that they happened when I least wanted them to. They practically paralyzed me. Just the fear of getting an anxiety attacks prompted one. So I ended getting anxiety attacks out of fear of getting anxiety attacks in bad situations. It was frustrating. Thinking about the entire vicious cycle was starting to shorten my breath and now they were both staring at me like I was a freak and I didn't know what to do because I didn't want him to think I was weak or stupid or unattractive.

But he saved me again, without even knowing that I needed to be saved. He reached out and he pulled me from my pool of doubts, showing me that he had not moved back an inch and that everything that we had gone through was there in every action he took and every word he said and every look he gave me.

"Are you not going to hug me, you little bitch?" He snapped in mock anger, worry creasing his features as one of his hands extended towards me in invitation. My face broke into a relieved grin and I ran a hand down my face to hide my flush. I didn't even know why I would assume he would act anything but his usual confident self.

Clove giggled widely and I blushed deeply, fidgeting with my shirt, before practically running to him and embracing him roughly. He grunted at the contact before chuckling and his hand came up to pat my head playfully before draping lightly on my waist. He pulled back, looking at me in amusement, our noses touching. I looked down, not yet sure where the situation was leading. I had little to no experience with intimate relationships. He let me hide that time, understanding that it wasn't the right moment to debate. He kissed my forehead lightly before moving back and talking to Clove about the details on the supplies.

He was back. He was really back. I didn't want him to ever leave again. I didn't think I could stand that. As I felt the weight of the Capitol's little gift on the back pocket of my pants, I gulped nervously, pursing my lips and looking at the sky as if Gloss would give me some sort of escape. I knew he wouldn't though because sex to him was like exercise. He liked doing it frequently with no ties and many partners. If he had been in my place, he would have dropped on the floor first chance he got Cato in a tent alone. I had seen the hungry look in his dilated gray eyes when he was in the mood and I had guiltily jacked off to it in the shower when my hormones had taken over my common sense, flushing madly the next time I saw him, ruffling my hair and smoking his usual cigs. He wanted me to do it and my knees shook in fear because it would be the first time I didn't have his support on the decision I would make.

I hated the Capitol for ruining the experience for me. They knew I would have made a move either way but they had to exert their pressure, remind me that every move I made had to be under their control, that the only reason I managed to get someone like Cato to look my way was solely their doing, that they held the power to all of my ties.

I think deep inside they knew it wasn't like that this time. I had made that move on my own. They also knew that our bond was more than their stupid colorful condoms. They were testing me though, urging me to present the gift to Cato, hoping that his lust would take over and shatter our bonds to pieces that the Capitol would pretend to put back together, comforting me, using it to their advantage to explain that everyone would hurt me, that I needed to be alone. After all 'that was the best life for me.'

I knew we had different opinions on Cato but I didn't know which one of us was right yet. I would find out when I did decide to tell him. Until then, I would move closer to him so that his presence could ward off theirs.

I didn't notice I had moved until I was right behind Cato, burrowing my face in his back and wrapping my arms around his waist. It was the same position we had spent so many nights in, nights that I would have to comfort him. I hadn't noticed it had become a necessity for me too until my mouth released a small whimper when it touched his shoulder blade. I needed to know though that he was the same person that could lay down next to me and cuddle without feeling like that made him less of a leader, less of a killer.

He startled a little at the contact before trying to turn his head to look at me. I didn't budge and he had to wriggle his body slightly to get me by his side so he could wrap his arm around me protectively. He didn't ask me if anything was wrong that time because he already knew the answer so he just stood there, giving me the comfort I needed, letting me grasp the back of his shirt and hide my eyes in his chest while he pretended not to notice my weakness, continuing his conversation with Clove who was looking at me worriedly. He shook his head, telling her to give me some space and they both banned together to protect my secret from the eyes of the millions of viewers:

I needed him.

I wanted him.

I wouldn't lose him.

I wouldn't kill him.

I loved him._ I freaking loved him_.


	13. Asmodeus' Luxuria Part III

**Short A/N: **

**Chapter rated MA, equivalent of NC-17, for themes that graphically describe sexual interactions or violent ones. Minors are warned.**

* * *

**Chapter 13 – Asmodeus' Luxuria**

**Part III/III**

Marvel's POV

"What's the matter, babe? Did I do something wrong?" He whispered suddenly in a sad tone and I jumped in surprise because I thought he had already fallen asleep; he had been so quiet ever since we lay down in the tent side by side. We had not spoken in a while though I had no idea why. I was too caught up in my thoughts to notice them when we sat around the fire to eat.

The day had gone by with him and Clove planning in rushed whispers the next move, running around the periphery and moving supplies, while I sat down next to the extinguished fire, munching lazily on crackers and staring at them in fascination that soon turned bitter. The good mood that had settled from seeing him again, spiriting around actively, had soured by the sunset because the weather had gotten colder. I had cuddled in my jacket next to the un-started fire, staring apathetically at the woods, without the will to spark a flame though I could feel my lips shivering. His arrival had allowed me to let my mind shutdown from the constant stress it had been in so I felt myself drifting in limbo, trapped by my demonic thoughts.

Cuddling in my sleeping bag, I had been worrying my bottom lip nonstop, my eyes roaming the top of the tent in paranoia. It had become harder to sleep at night; there was simply too much to think about. How would we hunt down the remaining tributes? Should we go back into the forest? What happened to Clove at the end? What happened to me? Now I had two weaknesses, one so powerful it choked me up to even think about blood on his beautiful, blue eyes. I couldn't get my brain to shut up and rest. His waking up meant the plot would thicken again, the action would pick up, and I was scared shitless. I was starting to think I failed as a warrior. Gloss would be disappointed.

Upon hearing his poignant voice, I sighed in defeat, knowing there would be no escape from the upcoming confrontation. He whispered my name, touching my hair and pulling it back to reveal my haunted eyes. I hated how it had grown long, curls tickling the back of my neck and falling past my ears. He liked playing with it though, twirling it between his rough fingers, and I would keep it long just to get that type of attention. I was a sucker for his attention, always had been since that first day when I saw him, topless and glimmering in that gladiator costume. I had fidgeted for thirty-three minutes, staring at him subtly through my lashes before I couldn't stand the wait anymore, pouting in dismay and walking up to his indifferent self.

I rolled around painfully so I was lying on my stomach diagonally, to face his worried features, his hand dropped down my neck to settle on my propped elbows. My hands came up to hold my head and he moved backwards a little, leaning his neck on the pillows behind him. We could both look at each other easily and I knew it was the moment of truth, the part where our relationship could take two roads. I had to suck it up and bring forth the presents, hoping that he wouldn't have me slammed on the floor brutally, his member deep in my body and my hands scratching protesting trails down his flexing back. The visual aid did not excite me in the least, which only served to scare me further. I couldn't let him rape me. I would have to fight.

By look in his eyes, he had not fallen asleep at all either. He regarded me in worry once more, cocking his head sideways in an innocent fashion that I would never expect from the District 2 ruthless killer. "What happened? What's upsetting you?" he insisted asking. I could see him getting riled up with each passing second and though he hadn't made a move to touch me yet, his hands were twitching on his stomach, clenching tightly.

I didn't answer immediately instead opting to sit back on my knees, put my hand into my back pocket and pull out the objects of my misery. My mind cringe when my fingers made contact with the aluminum foil and it was as if a spark had run up my arm and blocked my throat. He noted my change in posture and sat up with me as I placed the packs in his hand, without looking up at him, gently letting them drop. I could feel his gaze shift to the gift as he fiddled with the packs, trying to observe them more closely in the darkness of the tent. I didn't know what else there was to see, considering the glow-in-the-dark part made the labels flash dangerously. I couldn't get myself to look at him, staring at the way his thumbs reminisced on the surface, and I found myself disappointed at that weakness. I knew my behavior could be easily misinterpreted because I saw him gulp nervously; it was dangerous ground I was treading.

After moments of tense silence, I heard him sigh heavily beside me and one of his hands reached for me, wrapping around my shoulders and pulling me to him once more. I let my body move towards his sturdy one though I didn't know what was happening. He lightly kissed the top of my head once before standing up and exiting the tent so rapidly that I didn't have time to process the fact that he wasn't beside me anymore.

I flailed pathetically for a second, my eyes squirming around the tent in panic. That was not the reaction I was expecting from him and I stumbled up, still in my t-shirt and sweats following him outside to make sure he wasn't angry with me. I hoped he understood my reluctance but his sudden disappearance was making me worry because I could not predict his moves. A part told me to stay put until he came back but there was too much uncertainty to make that suggestion reasonable. I always fell the need to run after him in case he got hurt and I wasn't there to save him.

Gingerly walking out of the tent, I was scared at what I was going to see. He was standing by the fire, looking down at it with fierce determination, the flame reflecting on his blue eyes. He sensed me come out and walk over to him tentatively, only to stop a small distance behind him. I didn't yet know if he wanted my presence to be there. I knew he had been waiting for me to show up though because as soon as he made sure I was standing beside him he threw the colorful packs in the blazing flames, dropping them apathetically.

I gasped, moving forward in an attempt to salvage them but it was too late. The heat had degenerated the aluminum foil and by the heavy smell of burning latex, I assumed it had completely destroyed the insides too. The fire crackled at the new ingredient and I stood there confused at the meaning behind his actions. Did he not want me? He had had sex with many people before but _I_ wasn't good enough? His decision was worse than any other reaction I had been fabricating in my mind. Now I wished I had started the conversation differently.

Once everything had disintegrated into oblivion he turned to look at me, his eyes still mysterious and dark, blazing more than the flame. I returned the stare, questioning him with my pout, accusing him silently. I felt outplayed and frankly quite a little used, which was ridiculous because he had just destroyed the last traces of the ones who actually did use me all the time.

The wind blew stronger, taking with it embers of the fire and I had to place an arm in front of my eyes to shield them from the burning smoke. They stung in anger. The Capitol did not seem pleased at Cato's blatant disobedience. He moved away to place us in a safe distance and I followed him reluctantly, practically jogging to catch up after my first hesitation, my eyes still trained on the unforgiving fire. I wondered briefly how it would be to burn alive before biting my tongue painfully against the morbid thought. The capitol had influenced me badly. Death was behind every crevice of my mind.

Now that we were further away, the cold of the night made me shiver and rubbed my hands together in annoyance while he made to touch me, his eyes hurting when I pulled away. There was no winning if the Capitol did not want you to.

"So, I'm not as good as your other sluts back home?" I started asking in flustered chagrin combined morbidly with heated anger, cocking my head to the side and fidgeting with my shirt before wrapping my arms around my exposed skin, hating the goose bumps. He gawked at my question, staring at me in horrified hurt, his eyes caught-off guard. I felt like breaking down again from the confusion.

I wished our entire relationship wasn't that perplexing. I wished it didn't keep me up at night. It seemed that we thought we were on different stages because from my point of view, we were practically together—exclusive and very sexually active. I thought he wanted it and had it not been for the Capitol, I would have given it to him. After the incineration, I wasn't so sure anymore. Maybe I should have gone through more relationships before deciding to break the shell that was gorgeous Cato.

"Marv, what the fuck are you saying? That's not it at all. _This_ is not like that." He snapped back in anger, motioning towards us widely, making me flinch when he approached aggressively, his temper flaring.

"Right. Because you don't want to fuck me," I muttered under my breath, cringing at my mouth, lowering my eyes in submission at the way he growled, towering over me. What was I doing? I didn't want to go through with it and there I was fighting like a little bitch. I had to make up my mind before he lost his.

"You don't _want_ me to fuck you!" He roared at my face, making me look up in shock, my hurt soothing his rage enough for him to slap his hand on his forehead. My eyes watered in unrecognized jealousy as my teeth scarped the inside of my mouth. He turned around, sighing in anger, his hands on his waist. I stood there immobile, wanting to run back to the tent. "Shit. Let's rewind. Let me explain."

I nodded in his direction when he turned around with a resigned face, his eyes regretful. He approached me again and I met him hallway through, sighing in relief when his hands found the sides of my face, forcing me to look up at him, witness first hand the transformation of his eyes from guarded to sincere.

"They, those bitches back home who Clove has clearly told you about, mean _nothing_ to me. Nothing. I've never looked at them twice. You are everything to me now, and it's my fault for not having proved that to you yet but I thought I just did." His fingers caressed my blushing face, his eyes melting in front of me. "I could see how much those fucking rubbers got to you. I just wanted to show you that it's okay."

"You wan—" Before I had time to finish my sentence, he had moved forward, placing one of his palms on my neck and kissing me on my bit lips. I didn't return it that time, though I sighed in relief at the contact, easing the tension of my back. I didn't give in because I didn't like how he had found a new technique to avoid the corners I shoved him into. He would soon have to realize that a simple kiss, no matter how deliciously needed, was not going to clear my doubts. I needed to hear it.

It must have been amusing to everyone to see me so inexperienced, especially since they assumed I was the flirty, charismatic boy they had built me to be. The one the Capitol desired to advertise. He pulled back shortly, realizing I was still sulking. He did not deepen the kiss so I assumed he merely wanted me to stop talking. I thought he would leave me wandering in the middle ground but he eased my fears gently.

"I want you more than I have ever wanted anything in my life," he whispered against my lips, holding the eye contact and playing with the hair at the back of my neck. I blushed slightly against my will, moving forward towards his smile. I hated how he made me look like a blushing virgin because honestly I was supposed to be the heartbreaker.

A faint smile graced my lips and he noticed it too because he offered one back, his skin stretching and his dimples showing in mystery. I never noticed the small holes, doting his cheeks. He had never smiled that wide. Having experienced their rare appearance made me feel gratified. My finger traced the right now, hiding it from the cameras. He was only mine. The Capitol did not deserve him.

He struggled with words when he was angry but when he was clam, in a good mood and caring, he knew exactly what to say to make me fluster beyond control. I struggled in that aspect. It seemed unfair but thankfully he did not tease me about it like I used to when he was choked up. I was such an asshole. Sometimes the ridiculous thought of me not deserving him crossed my mind and it scared me because of the context and because of the attachment associated with it.

"I want you more than I want to win," he admitted in a small voice tinged with sadness, nuzzling against my cheek and kissing me lightly again on the neck, my pulse speeding up. My mind flinched at the context of the Games, my breath catching. I couldn't think about the end because no matter what happened in between, the end sucked and dwelling on it would just depress me to the point that I would either become an emotional wreck or an emotionless cocoon. My attitude last night only served to reinforce my theory. I was already slipping, every moment I was not beside him I hurt. I had to live day by day, enjoy every moment we were breathing in unison. I had to focus solely on his eyes so when I was floating through purgatory alone, I could repaint them and they would be my shining light.

My hands came up to hug him back tightly, clinging to his shirt, as I looked at the fire again where he had deliberately annihilated the sole agent of my stress, not thinking twice about the possible consequences. I had not been strong enough to do that on my own but he could do it for me. He could watch out for me like Gloss had done all his life. He could be my Gloss and offer me way more, give me what I craved. If it weren't for his determination, his addicting affection, I would have been dead multiple times and because of that reason, I didn't think I could live without him anymore. I couldn't think about moving on because there was nothing past him. Darkness reigned and I would hide in his chest, glimpsing at it in fear every now and then until it took my shield away from me.

"Why?" I whined, feeling stupid for having to in the first place. I didn't want him to get annoyed at my hesitance or my idiocy but I had to know what was going through his mind to make sure we were in the same place. I left the question deliberately ambiguous so he could answer whichever one he was comfortable with. Why did you put yourself in danger? Why did you think we wouldn't be able to have sex for show? Why did you mention the fucking end again? Why does it have to be one of us who comes out alive? Why can't I be with you for longer than a few weeks? Why is this not fair? Why did I have to meet you under these circumstances? Why? Why? Why?

"I can't let this be about what they want. Not this time. They won't take this away from us," He explained gently, a hint of anger behind his eyes that was not directed towards me. He chose to answer the simplest of the questions, knowing that the others did not have an exact answer other than: 'it's life' and 'you win some, you lose some'.

He looked up at the sky, scowling, and before he had time to distract himself, I placed my hands on his face pulling his attention back towards me and kissed him hard enough to bruise. He grunted at the contact and it didn't take long for the kiss to deepen, our lips battling for dominance. We both needed to stop thinking for a while. My thoughts had enlightened a desperation inside of me that was stronger than the one build inside of everyone to survive and endure.

If I had so little time with him, I would use every second of every minute to be by his side and show him how many doors he had opened for me. I wouldn't be able to take them, explore them to the fullest, because it was too late, too close to the end, but for once in my life I could see what was inside of them, I could see other worlds, different options and that was all I needed. For once in my life, I had hope that it could have been different. The nihilistic belief flushed out of me with every drop of saliva that ran down my chin when his spicy taste invaded my mouth. I would smile for him and I wouldn't cry for the Capitol until the very end.

Still locking lips, he started moving me backwards, holding me close in case I stumbled, and I hissed when my back hit the rough bark behind me. He took the opportunity to slither his tongue in and I gently nipped it as punishment for his sneakiness. He smiled against my lips, continuing to elongate the moment because when I was with him, air did not seem necessary. His hands had come to settle next to my head on the tree trunk and mine were wrapped around his neck, practically strangling him with how hard I was holding on. He wouldn't be leaving me tonight.

There was a lot of licking and biting and groaning; the entire kiss felt animalistic, violent and possessive. I liked the power behind it and his dominance was a definite turn on but I felt was if I had to push back because I, by no means, was a submissive and he would have to learn that sooner or later. I personally thought it was more thrilling when we did not fall into those set roles, instead experimented with the boundaries and the gray area.

I pulled back suddenly and he blindly followed my lips to try and make contact again but I turned away, letting him settle on my cheek. He must have been confused and a small whine tore from the back of his throat but he was far too turned on to complain so instead he took that time to get some air into his lungs. My hands slid down his chest, fiddling with the hem of his shirt before sneaking inside of it, slowly giving my mind what it wanted. His entire abdomen flexed and he inhaled sharply, encouraging me in permission. My hands roamed the contours of his smooth, hairless skin, marveling at the soft feel and smirking at his perk nipples. My thumb flicked against his left one and he humped me into the tree, groaning more than I had expected. My mouth watered at the sight of his pleasure, vivid on his parted mouth and lidded eyes.

He tried to kiss me again with his pouting lips, subconsciously moving against me, and I could feel the bulge in his pants hot against my thigh. My eyes lowered to his tented pants, my tongue greeting my lips before I gasped when his teeth caught it between them, his sharp canines running down the fleshy surface. He pulled back, smirking while I pulled the organ in, tasting his lust, palpable and overpowering.

Before he had time to make a move, my lips latched on to his neck, nibbling and lapping. His frame shook and he cursed under his breath, placing his forehead against the tree and letting me finish my work. He was very sensitive, seeing as he was releasing small puffs of breaths and whispered moans after every inch of skin I explored, smelling his musky scent, feeling the effects that the pheromones had on my groin. Something told me he had completely let go of his shield and was wide open and vulnerable to everything that I could possibly do to him.

My fingers found one of his perk nipples again and my mouth reached his Adam's apple as I gently sucked on it, running my tongue against the soft spot. His breath hitched violently, my name on his lips, and his fist slammed hard on the bark before he cursed and retracted it back. I startled at the sudden movement, my hands leaving his shirt and my face pulling back. I knew he had a tendency to be violent when he got turned on but I wanted him to channel that intensity and not stupidly injure himself.

He hissed at the pain his rash decision caused him; his knuckles were scraped and bleeding slightly but he paid not attention to that because the moment his fist had made impact with the tree we both heard the robotic sound of a camera zoom in and out. I stiffened at the sudden realization while he looked at the camouflaged hole once before squeezing his palm inside in resentment. I looked behind, questioning him slightly and soothing his fury with my lips on his jaw, pecking the location of his dimple, begging it to come back. He allowed me to continue but I could see his mind was elsewhere and I was about to verbally ask him when I heard him crush the camera with his bare hand, the sound of scraping metal and malfunctioning wires being emitted from the tree. I flinched when he retreated his hand quickly.

I swiftly grabbed his palm and looked at the slight burn his actions had caused him in worry. His fingers were slightly bleeding and the rest of his hand was raw and red. I was about to protest but he looked too satisfied with himself. I couldn't scold him because I couldn't take away that sense of accomplishment that was making him feel better. I bit my lip in worry because usually the Capitol did not like to be treated that way. They did not like to be played with. They were probably very angry with us. I just hoped Seneca was far too amused by the turn in events and the sponsors were far too enticed by the interaction to be able to stop it now by causing us any form of danger. I just hoped Gloss and Brutus could hold up the fort for a little longer. One night was all I needed. One night and I could die stratified.

I was certain that was not the only camera in the arena not that it mattered much but I doubted they would have much reason to intervene in that possibly once in a lifetime chance to satisfy their perverted desires, that was if the frenzy Cato was experiencing did not outsmart his libido.

"Don't antagonize them," I murmured sadly, leaning my head back and looking into the darkness of the forest, expecting to be ambushed any second. I was certain he did not like the shift in the atmosphere and he kissed my temple, hugging me tightly to his chest. I also did not like how I had given up the thought of fighting them back that used to live in the back of my mind. I was sure it was truly gone now. After many attempts, the Capitol had finally extinguished my flame of resistance or so I thought.

"What will it take for you to forget about them tonight?" He asked as my hands grasped the back of his t-shirt and my eyes hid from the possible cameras in the safety of his chest. Would I be able to ever go against the Capitol? I hated them so much, but I was scared of them at the same time because I had seen how easily they could destroy lives when they didn't like you, when you were a threat. I had seen children killed before the eyes of their parents and innocent people charged as guilty, losing their ability to ever speak up or try to make a difference. I had seen them kill my last stylist, pierce her stomach and redden her white, flowy dress. I had begged them in fear when they had sat me down, forcing my head up by my hair, as they beat Gloss to the floor, making him scream and bleed just because he had intervened to save me from their latest torture. They had all the control and they would never let me forget that.

I had been told many times that I was just a tool. If it weren't for them, I would have been a nobody; they made me special. I was nothing without them, alone, because they had make sure to eliminate every bond in my life ending with Glimmer, who died in the hands of their demented creatures. I wondered what would happen to Gloss if I died in the arena. Seneca had whispered in my ear many times, bribing me into committing crimes, dangling his life in front of my helpless eyes. They told me, every time my eyes watered, that they would hang him dead and lock me in that room until I cried out all my tears if I kept being weak. I was scared for my mentor.

"They will hate me," I whispered sadly, not having realized I had said it out loud until he reacted beside me, holding me tighter, and then I noticed I had revealed that little weakness to the world. I should have controlled my mouth better; I couldn't be going around blurting my secrets. Suddenly, I felt naked and more vulnerable than ever in the eyes of my torturers. If it weren't for him holding me together, I would have probably exploded in pieces by then. If it weren't for the way his eyes turned joyful when I succeeded, I would have probably given up long ago. The desire to shatter, disappear for once was so powerful that he must have been awfully strong to manage it.

He pulled back a little and I thought he was about to scold me for my feebleness but all he did was touch his forehead against mine, our sweat meshing, and murmur what I thought was the craziest thing I had ever heard him say. It completely overshadowed my weakness and it opened the doors to his walls wide open for me to enter. I was so overwhelmed that I did not know whether to cry or smile. He had offered me an escape, a haven. Since I didn't want to be in my broken world anymore, I could take refuge in his. He would attempt to clean up the mess in his past so he could fit me in his life, help me fight.

"I can love you more than they'll hate," he whispered so low and I didn't know if I heard it or read his lips like I did that first day when he kissed my doubts away. It didn't matter because the message was there and that time, I didn't doubt that he had actually meant it—he had said it in front of everyone. He had admitted what nobody had ever offered me in my life, not my crazy mother, not my abusive father, not sweet and adorable Glimmer or strong and proud Gloss.

My tongue was tied and I knew I needed to respond because I didn't want him to think that I was offended by his words. I needed to find someway to say it back but he had done it so perfectly and my charisma was shit when it came to emotions so I was standing there, trembling in anxiety and trying stupidly to form sentences. His eyes were sympathetic and never left mine, never showed any emotion other than compassion. The pressure kept rising and I hadn't realized I was having some sort of emotional breakdown until he wiped my eyes with his thumbs and whispered for me not to cry. I couldn't really hear him and the dread of knowing I was bawling like a pathetic baby was the last straw before my brain decided to have a palpitation.

Before I could lose control over my body, I remembered the only way I had figured out that halted the attacks. I broke free from his grasp and sprinted towards the lake. He must have been shocked and screaming for me to come back but I couldn't really hear him and I had to do this before the state of my mind deteriorated. I knew he would be following behind me but the head start I had attained would be more than enough time to complete the ritual. Everyone in the Capitol must be laughing their asses of at my reactions. Somebody had finally expressed their love for me and I had decided to have a panic attack. It sounded so idiotic, so like pathetic me. People couldn't understand where I was coming from so I didn't blame them for thinking I was weird. They didn't know me so they didn't have to like me. I found it strange that when I was an outsider, I was the outcast, the one kids on the street pointed to with disgust. In the Capitol, I was the center of attention, the one everyone wanted to be, the ultimate insider, and surprisingly, I was still a fucking outsider, the eccentric boy that people pitied. How did you ever win with these people? How did you ever _win_?

The whole monologue that my head had fallen in was cut short as I kneeled beside the lake and plunged my head in the cool water. Relief washed over me, my head stopped thumping and my hands stopped shaking on the edge of the lake. I could feel my lungs burn from the lack of oxygen but at least it was under my control now and my ears came back to life even when my vision started wavering. I was okay now and I was about to pull out when I was yanked back forcefully, landing on the ground. My lungs filled with air and my eyes came back to life but I didn't have enough time to compose myself. I was pulled back into his warm chest and he started screaming at me wildly with an alarmed voice. He was alternating between shaking me like a ragdoll and clutching me to his chest like a pillow and I was just lost. It took awhile before I could understand his pleading sentences.

"What the _fuck_, Marvel?! What the hell just happened? I don't even—what was that about? Are you insane? Have you lost your mind? You've lost your mind…" He was blabbering rapid-fire, the sentences merging into each other and the meaning escaping me at times. I was looking up at his darting blue eyes, pouting in amusement.

In response to his freaking out, I laughed out loud because for the first time, I felt relieved, free of my doubts and weaknesses and just fucking happy. He stopped talking and was looking at me in genuine worry because I must have looked like I had lost my marbles. I sat up in his lap before practically tackling him to the ground, hugging him tightly and smiling, giggling his name. His arms moved towards my back and he sat up again, holding me close and asking for an explanation.

"It's the only way I found effective in stopping my anxiety attacks. I get… I get faint when I see…blood. It's out of my control," I explained shyly, shrugging and blushing. I was shocked at how easily I could admit my ultimate secret out in the open. I had never mentioned it to anyone and though the people closest to me knew, it was never talked about. But tonight I was fine with it. I could live with that flaw and I could shrug it off because I had contained it myself, I had been strong enough to stop it. He smiled at me in relief and he must have sensed my moment of triumph because he did not continue scolding me. He just sat there, holding me on his lap and shaking his head in mock anger. He did not ask about either. He didn't push it, knowing exactly how it had been created. He gave me the relief I needed.

"You fool. You could have died. _I _could have died; you gave me a fucking heart attack!" He screamed, pushing me off a little and standing up. He was pouting now, his eyes still amused and I ran behind him, hugging him again and pretending to comfort him. He pushed me off and we wrestled jokingly for a while, rolling around on the floor, him running away and me trying to get him to stay. I finally managed to attach my body to his legs like a finger monkey and he admitted defeat in the face of my excellent skill in becoming a burden. He pulled my giggling self up, holding me in his arms and rolling his eyes at my victorious face.

He leaned in slowly to kiss me again and I smirked back, noticing that the entire playful fiasco had not set him off the mood at all. He must have been really hot for me. The second time he did not hesitate to take my shirt off, sliding his rough hands up my sides, and though I shivered at first, I was too excited to let that get in my way. His eyes waterfalled down my chest to my bellybutton, analyzing my excited trembles and drinking in the flush that had dusted the skin. I whispered for him to make a move and he smirked smugly, wrapping his arms around me again, holding my waist, fiddling with my waistband.

His plump lips kissed my collarbone lightly, running his tongue over the mark, wetting the skin, and I whimpered because it was still tender, stinging in sparks. His breath felt chilly against my skin, driving goose bumps down my neck that he kissed away. His hands massaged my scalp, fiddling with my curls, pushing the long strands behind my ear to freely molest the auditory organ with nips. The guttural moan that escaped my throat told me we had both just discovered my sweet spot as he nibbled on the sensitive skin, tracing his tongue up the shell.

My shaking hands were working on his pants, pulling them towards my body so our crotch area rubbed in friction, and I could tell by the way his stomach was twitching that he couldn't wait to be out of them. My palm slid up his stomach, drooling at the six pack dancing under my fingers, the contours easily traceable, my finger sliding around the muscle. His breath got harsher, his teeth biting the delicate skin bestially.

I took my time to return to his pants, undoing the belt slowly, hearing him perk up at the click. I undid the buttons one by one, my fingers flicking dangerously past his obvious bulge while he marked my entire neck up to my shoulder in red hickeys. I kissed him again, interrupting his moan as I dropped his pants on the ground, gathering near his shoes, which he pulled himself out off. He stepped out of the constricting material in an attempt to reach for me again while I pulled away seductively. I moved away, stripped off my clothes and dove on the lake, jumping headfirst and feeling my body gracefully curve like the dolphins I had seen so many times at the Capitol.

"You are such a tease," he snapped, incredulous, taking off his own boxers with a grin and joining me in the lake, hissing when his heated groin touched the water. He walked towards me much like that first night before diving in to remove the building sweat. As soon as he came up for air, I was on him, wrapping my legs around his torso and pulling his head against my lips. He cursed under his breath, surprised and caught off guard at me momentum, bringing one of his arms to rest on my back and hold me up while his other blindly searched for the edge as he strolled back. He must have been pretty good at multi-tasking because his tongue was fighting back at the same time that he was holding my weight and walking around.

Eventually he found what he was looking for and I felt my entire body swiveled before being held up against the ledge, my legs still around his waist. I pulled back at the contact to make myself comfortable and he buried his face on my neck, sucking lightly and talking dirty, giving me graphic images of all his fantasies, the ones he moaned at in the shower. I had always thought that entire phenomenon of sexual words was cheesy and cringe-worthy but he did it so well that I found myself, twitching against his abdomen, my toes curling against this strong back as my body tensed, rubbing against his godlike frame. He pushed me back gently so I was leaning my head on the ledge and he took the time to kiss down my chest, lick around my sensitive nipple.

The moment his hand wrapped around me with a squeeze, I moaned out loud and bucked into him, my entire body tensing once before releasing again. The long awaited contact had finally arrived and it felt better than any dream I had imagined and any method I had touched myself in. His rough, warm skin against my sensitive member was igniting every last nerve ending in my body. My eyes glazed over and I looked at him, noticing how dilated his pupils were and how plump his lips had become. He was flushing in arousal and I could feel how hard he was against my thigh. I pushed myself of the ledge, sinking my hands in the water. He hissed in anticipation but did not look away from me. I touched him softly, earning a grunt of approval. I maneuvered his hand so he was wrapped around both of us simultaneously, urging him on with my flapping eyes. He got the cue and when he clutched both our full members together, hard against each other, I mewled passionately and he cursed breathily, his fingers shaking. His other hand relocated to balance him on the ledge, where I was leaning wantonly against, my hair spread in the grass.

His hand moved up and down our shafts, pumping us to completion, and we both snarled, crushing into each other and kissing with such intensity that I was sure my lip had split open and drool had escaped the caverns of our mouths. Everything was hot and wet and sticky. Pleasure was racing down my veins from every part of my body. I heard his hand crush the ground beneath it and I heard him groan, twitching against his hand and my member.

The fact that I could feel his every movement, his every tremble and twitch, his soft, velvety skin and the heat cruising his body made everything more arousing. We were both blind with desire, touching, groping, clutching. My hands were abusing his short, golden hair, pulling at it as I moved against him. He shoved me in the wall, my back scratched by the rocks, his marred by my stubby nails running down its powerful muscles. No matter how much we fidgeted in desire, his hand kept working us both and I had never experience anything more intimate, exhilarating. How could I have ever died without knowing that world?

"I've been waiting my entire life for this," he growled, touching our noses and pushing me further into the edge, his precum merging with the water. I smirked at him, biting his bottom lip and pulling on it lightly, knowing he liked it a little rough. "For you, my baby." I moaned in pleasure, making him lose rhythm for a second before his hand resumed a faster pace. His other hand moved away from the edge to thread inside my wet hair and he kissed me again, actively exploring my mouth. My hands moved away from him, resting on the ground behind me and I gently heaved myself out of his embrace, his lips pulled away and his eyes opened, both his hands settling on the ground as he looked at me raise myself up on the ground. He didn't stop me, his eyes analyzing every line in my body, every droplet of water, every shadow, every scar.

After emerging from the water, I lay myself on the prickly grass, sprawling there motionless and looking up at the pretense stars. I needed to regain myself because being with him, every moment was making me forget everything about the game; I was losing my identity and my well-established front. I had yet to speak since we started and I was afraid that my mouth would release a thought that would ruin the moment. I didn't want it to end, not tonight…not ever.

I heard him pull himself up from the water and I closed my eyes, breathing slowly and just allowing myself to feel, concentrate on that event only. I felt his lips on my knee, laying small, flutter kisses and moving up to my inner thigh, my bony hip, my outie bellybutton, my flat stomach, my toned chest, my marked shoulder. He was showering me with butterfly kisses, crawling on top of me simultaneously and offering me the warmth that I had missed when I pulled away from his love. When his mouth moved to my neck, my arms reached to hug him tightly and he smiled against my skin. My eyes opened then and I looked at him in admiration, trying to show to him what I couldn't verbalize, trying to tell him that he was my life now. I wanted him to win.

I saw from the corner of my eye, in my peripheral vision, the blur of a white parachute fall from the sky. I couldn't believe they were trying again. Why couldn't they just let it happen? Everyone was probably satisfied more than enough with the show we were providing but they couldn't give up the idea of controlling the situation. They couldn't accept that I wanted him. By myself. For myself.

They did not make me and they could not stop me. He had effectively stolen their position of power because my body responded to his touches and my emotions to his words. Unlike the Capitol, he was not looking to use me and hurt me. He just wanted me to stay the same. They could not understand and they would not allow it. The gray area was dangerous for the system. It had to be either right or wrong. The parachute landed on the water, sinking without being retrieved and I smirked at the sky behind his sturdy body, still covering me from the eyes of the world.

"You're thinking about them again," he murmured into my ear before running his tongue on the under side of it. I shivered violently, nodding slightly through pursed lips that contained my moans, knowing that I couldn't lie to him. He could read me like an open book and he knew more about me than I knew about myself. I felt him move from his position on top of me, stretching up and standing.

I startled, looking up at him from my trance and reaching for him to stop him from moving away. I thought I had done it; destroyed his last embers of passion. Even without speaking up, I had managed to break the moment. I wanted to take it back immediately and I grabbed his arm when he stood up and starting to walk towards the clothes. I didn't want the night to end like that, empty and unfulfilled. I didn't have enough of him.

As I yanked his arm back, looking at him in regret and fear, he smiled down at me and I was stumped because it wasn't the reaction I expected. His eyes were sympathetic, the blue wrapping around me like a blanket of warmth and safety.

"Sit tight for a second, will you cutie?" He teased lightly, detaching my fingers from his arm and moving back towards the pile of clothing, next to the lake. I sat waiting for him, confused about his next move, scared about theirs. The fear of him leaving had completely eliminated all thoughts of the Capitol and knowing him, that was probably what he wanted to achieve. He wanted all my attention with no exceptions.

When he came back he had only retrieved his shirt and he settled back on top of me, his knees on either side of my legs, trapping me. I purred in satisfaction as he lowered his torso on me, placing a chaste kiss on my lips and edging me back to action. I got the cue so I started kissing down his neck and he rewarded me with moans and whispered compliments that made me blush, my chest fluttering in satisfaction. He thought I was gorgeous. He though _I _was the most good-looking tribute. He thought I was…_important_.

I heard the sound of ripping fabric and it startled me into looking at him again. He had torn the shirt open with his hands and as soon as I sat up, I saw my vision disappear behind the piece of fabric he was tying around my eyes. I panicked a little, stiffening because I felt too vulnerable without my vision, unable to see anything around me. What was he doing?

Before I had time to remove the blindfold, cringing against the memory of the whip, his lips were on mine and he was pinning my hands on the ground, kissing me passionately. I kissed back with a little trepidation because I did not like to be controlled that much. I didn't feel completely comfortable and my anxiety was acting up, panicked about the situation, pleading for there to be no pain.

"Relax, baby. Shh…I got you. Just feel tonight," he whispered against my lips, caressing my face lovingly, and before I could speak to question him, voice my fears, he had flipped us around so I was sitting on top of him and he was supposedly lying on the ground, his hands on my waist, rubbing soothing circles. It was staggering how fast he had accomplished that task and I was confused at the implications, my heads spinning at the momentum. My hands had settled on his wide chest and I could feel how hot he was now that my other sensed had peaked, his nipples poking at me teasingly.

"It's all you tonight, beautiful," he whispered in my ear, kissing me once before pulling me down with him. Our members rubbed against each other in an agonizing pace and I moaned before I could stop myself. Every cell was touching; every nerve was on fire. He encouraged me to pick up the pace and I finally realized he had given up all control. He was letting me decide how our relationship was going to progress.

He was so fucking perfect and he was mine. He was the only thing that was truly mine. He knew exactly what I needed and when to give it to me. Seeing him unafraid to let go, knowing it wouldn't make him any less attractive, only made me love him more, made me want to thank him in tears. The blindfold was forgotten because I trusted him with everything. I would die for that boy. I was going to die for that boy because he deserved to win more than I did. I wouldn't let my Capitol-trained part kill him.

As we moved against each other, writhing in pleasure and touching every part we could reach, I understood that I didn't have to please the Capitol. There were so many other ways and he, being a devil's advocate, had quickly figured out the method that would provide us with the most satisfaction while simultaneously flipping the finger at everyone in the Capitol who was watching. We wouldn't have sex but we would create that unbreakable bond our own way.

Our moans increased in frequency as I settled on the quick pace that satisfied us both. I could feel every muscle in his chest quiver in effort and I could feel the sweat dripping down my stomach to puddle on his hairless one. He never stopped complimenting me, muttering about how good I looked and how lucky he was to have me. Between that and the sensations invading my brain, I did not feel the need to remove the blindfold to take a look myself. I was confident. His little experiment had somehow removed all the bad memories that I used to associate with being blindfolded and Seneca was banished to the back of my mind, held down by my demons as I continued to only see the light.

Only when I felt his fingers digging into my skin in warning did I shift my dominant position, pulling him up and settling on his lap while he simultaneously removed my blindfold, letting me see the world with my new found freedom. He looked amazing with his eyes shining in pleasure and his pupils dilating back and forth. His entire forehead was covered in sweat, attracting some of his wet curls to it, and his neck was marked from my reflexive biting, dotted and bruised. He smiled at me when he noticed I was analyzing him and I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, the dimples shyly making an appearance. I didn't want anyone else to have him. I would be the only one to see him in that state. I smiled back, hugging him closer and whispering in his ear, huskily, finally finding my voice and letting it speak its will.

"Your turn," I murmured, biting his earlobe and offering the power he gave me back because I didn't want it all the way. Our bond was about its movement back and forth. That was the basis of our entire relationship, sharing the responsibility and protecting the other when he wanted to just give up, drift powerless for a moment.

The noise that came out of his throat was between a moan and a growl and his hands grasped my naked, muscled thighs, wrapping them around his waist as he shifted me so now I was lying below him again. My toes curled in anticipation, my fingers grasping his behind.

I didn't have to think about anything at the moment and the feeling of freedom was exhilarating. He gave me the chance to sit back and milk all the pleasure out of our activities as I felt his body slide against mine sensually, his hands wrap around my legs with bruising power and his breath speed up. We were not holding back anymore and I was sure a variety of inappropriate noises were escaping our mouths, floating into the wind. I had started to move up with him, keeping our rhythm and his head had burrowed in my neck as he exclaimed the filthiest words I had heard him use to day.

When we climaxed simultaneously, I felt the entirety of my old life shatter in front of my eyes, taking with it all the anxiety. My lungs felt on fire, my entire body tingled with pleasure and my throat felt raw form my scream. I had felt him tense above me before unleashing all of his pent up frustration, holding me close to him and kissing me roughly, plastering his lips against my neck to prevent the noise for escaping his mouth. No matter how hard he tried to stop it from reaching my perky ears, it emerged anyway and it boosted my orgasm because he had screamed about how much too much he loved me.

It was only after we had both collapsed against each other, panting and chuckling breathily that I was conscious enough to realize my slip-up. By the beaming smile on his face and the way his eyes were judging me, I knew I had said it too without even planning too.

"I said it didn't I?" I muttered, hiding my blushing face in the crook of his neck and he laughed out loud, affirming it with a nod. I sighed apathetically, secretly enjoying the fact that he had managed to lower my walls enough for that feeling to escape because it was now out in the open and there were no more boundaries. He was mine and I was only his. I had been fretting about confessing my passion all night only to have it escape on its own, impatient at my thick tongue.

As we lay next to each other, looking at the sky and fooling around with the remaining amount of energy we had left, he pointed at the obscene amount of parachutes about to fall from the sky. I guess we had been as mouth-watering and eye pleasing as I imagined we would be. The temperature had risen to keep us naked in the open for longer and the sky had cleared, the moon voluptuous.

"Look Marvel, we were _marvelous_," He blurted in between chuckles, laughing at his own pun as I cringed. His humor at times amazed me. He got too giggly and it bordered prison humor where one made a joke and then laughed at it seeing as there was no one else around to enjoy it.

"Good one, cheeseball," I muttered through a straight face, smiling at how his amusement dropped. He crossed his arms like a spoiled brat, scuffling away in punishment. I pecked his cheek in apology and he made a comment about how I was too sassy for my own good. I could imagine all my life being spent by his side.

That night I frankly didn't give a damn about the Games or the Capitol or the dying or the dead or my parents or my past or my future. I knew he was by my side, laughing and enjoying himself. I knew that demented meadow where we had shed blood was where we both wanted to be. I knew the Capitol was wrong about so many things—about everything it preached in extended monologues and grandiose words.

I wasn't emotionless. I wasn't weak and I definitely wasn't worthless. I knew they knew I had escaped from their clutches because I knew that was the best moment in my life. If going through all the torture that brought me to this point, the beating, the crying, the killing and the insults, was the only way to achieve the catharsis, then it was all worth it.

He was all worth it.


	14. Babylon The Great's Vanagloria Part I

**Chapter 14 –Babylon The Great's Vanagloria**

**Part I/V**

Marvel's POV

"Hey, look. Is that…?" I talked to Clove, looking up from sharpening my spear to the dark smoke rising in the sky like a black omen, twirling seductively and inviting us in. Another tribute had been stupid enough to light a fire? It seemed incredible because there was such a limited amount of tributes alive and I had thought we were all of some skill. A fire had not been lit so openly since that first day I killed that girl, the day I strangled her with my shaking hands to experience the loss of light. I wanted to see if death hurt, if her eyes would gain that flicker of redemption, white hope, when she was about to leave our world. It hadn't been there because I hadn't been strong enough to finish it until the end. I had disappointed everyone.

Who could the new pyromaniac possibly be? Was it the District 12 kids? They had not died yet that was for sure because no new faces had been displayed in the sky for a while. It was becoming an almost pleasant camping trip with all the laying around and munching on food. I think a lot of us were already too scared to make any rash moves. There were still eight left, us four, two from 12, and two from 11. I didn't know how the others were playing the game but I didn't think there were any other alliances, making our group the largest. Thresh must have been working alone because those two other boys that had pushed me up the bathroom wall were already dead. I made sure to eliminate them that first night in the blood bath, smirking when they pleaded for mercy, laughing cruelly when they screamed for Thresh who made if for the forest without looking back twice.

"A fire! Cato!" Clove screamed, excited that we were going to make a move. She had been getting restless and after our last kill she was a bit nervous, the redhead haunting her as much as she tortured me. I could get some sleep though because Cato was always there to soothe me, caress the sweat off my brow and whisper words of comfort. Clove was starting to think she had no one and that scared her and terrified Cato. It was getting close to the end and the alliance was wavering, threatened by constant thoughts of betrayal. Cato had slept with a hand around my shoulders and a knife on his hand last night, pulling me to his chest and placing me on the furthest side from the tent. With every movement I had made during the night, complaining about the heat, he startled, looking around for any signs of danger.

I knew Cato would never turn on me and vice versa but Clove was still a bit of a wild card especially because she felt alone. Was she thinking that we would team up against her? Would we team up against her in the end? I didn't think I would be able to, looking at her petite frame and wide, hazel eyes. We had grown closer than I imagined just by sitting and talking, letting our thoughts air, escape our insane minds. Then there was the kid from Distract 3, Edan, who had been tagging along uselessly ever since the beginning. Why were we keeping him alive? His utility had diminished completely; the mines had been set. I thought his survival was partially because all three of us were reluctant to shed more blood in our territory. We were waiting, hoping that one of us would wake up, fed up and irritated, to dispose of the weak link. We were shying away from staining our hands.

Cato rushed over from where he was eating through an entire supply of food, his mouth still full and his hands busy wiping on his pants. Ever since he had woken up, his appetite was risking our survival because he had become a grazer, pacing through the camp nervously and shoving stuff down his throat, stuff he didn't even like to eat. Maybe it was a stress mechanism; I didn't know. I knew my appetite had decreased and I had lost some weight. I had warned him jokingly, touching his stomach affectionately, about his getting chubby, knowing that he needed all the calories he could with his body mass. He had cursed me out, pushed me on my ass, raised his shirt in demonstration, the cinnamon bun still between his lips, and then pretended to be mad for a while munching on more food. I found it ridiculously amusing. He called it recuperating his energy and recharging before 'game time'.

When he saw what we were pointing at he dropped the food carelessly on the grass and grinned like a Cheshire cat. I could see by his stance and his sparkling blue eyes that he was eager. He had been talking about hunting for a while, laying down beside me, but we wanted to make sure we wouldn't be ambushed. The tributes left had lived in the forest for a couple of weeks and we knew we couldn't just stumble into their territory, pretending to know the traps and shortcuts. It wasn't like the first day. The risks were higher.

"This is a trap. We should stay," I mumbled, staring at the flaming plants. The smoke was the high, too tempting.

We stood next to each other, observing the swirling dark smoke in the sky before he ordered us to get ready, against my reflection. I stared at him in shock, Clove gulping and moving away, while motioned for me to move faster. I didn't fight, staring at him in disappointment. I was nervously shaking because it seemed too easy but I didn't want to argue with Cato. I couldn't extinguish that flickering flame in his eyes, the one he had missed all that time. Besides, it was our only lead and as long as we didn't fall for anything, we would be fine. It was three against one anyway. It would be crazy if we didn't win.

I picked up my light blue jacket, throwing it on and filling my pockets with some small medical supplies just in case. A part of me thought I was being paranoid but I didn't want a repeat of last time we entered that nightmare-giving forest. Once you went in it was hard to find your way out; it held you hostage. From the corner of my eye I saw Cato approach me gingerly, all packed and ready, his backpack strapped on. I wondered if we were going to go on a long journey. He looked at my filled hands once, sighing before pushing the items on the floor, grabbing my empty, sweaty palms. I flinched, looking down, submitting because he was the leader and love couldn't come in to change that. Emotions were weak.

"I promise I won't let anything happen to you in there. I'll be there to shield you. I know it's a trap but somebody must have set it, right? Some fucker that thinks he can outsmart us," he murmured apologetically, drawing circles on my palms with his thumbs before giving me a faint smile and leaning in to kiss me on the cheek innocently. I nodded gently, smiling back at him, grabbing one of his hands and holding on as we waited for Clove to get ready. I wasn't scared for my safety. I was scared for his. I didn't want to see him injured again.

When she joined our circle I let go of Cato, stepping back a little and giving him full control of the situation, making him the leader while Clove and I followed his commands. He looked at both of us with pride and I could see how happy he was at being respected. I should have done it long ago. He took one last glance at the supplies were the boy from 3 was sitting with a bored expression, fidgeting with a stick. He was so lost that at times we had to scream at him to get his attention. He was a hopeless case and I worried sick every time we left camp in his hands.

Then we were sprinting.

* * *

It had been a trap. When we had reached the embers of the burning fire, there had been no one around. We searched the area, our weapons clutched in our hands. Cato had insisted on holding me close, gripping either the back of my jacket or the edge of my sleeve when I wandered too far off in the forest on my own. A part of me found his protectiveness cute but another part thought he didn't trust me enough to take care of myself and that thought frustrated me. I was a warrior as much as he and I could handle a fight or two. I had told him that but he had just chuckled before asking me to 'indulge' him for a moment. His eyes had been trained on me more than the actual arena and I had rolled mine every time I caught him staring.

Clove rolled her eyes and smiled knowingly whenever we had one of our tug-of-wars that consisted of him yanking me back by his side and me pulling myself forward against his orders, muttering obscenities under my breath. The back flap of my sky-blue windbreaker was, needless to say, hanging by threads having suffered the damage. I was scared to get him upset but it seemed as if the hunt had put him in a good mood because he chuckled every time I tried to escape his clutches, thinking of the entire scenario as a game. I had thought it had been a pleasant detour until we heard the explosion shake our realities and remind us that we were being hunted down.

The detonation was so powerful that it blasted me and Clove off our feet, both of us raising off the ground and landing on our asses meters away. She squealed at the impact, rolling on her side until she stopped on her stomach, while I grunted in pain, practically banging against the bark of a tree. Cato fared better only having to crouch to stop himself from being dragged away. The smell of burning materials wafted in the air, swishing past our lost faces. At first we didn't know how to react because we had no idea where the sound had come from. Had the Capitol created the diversion? The sky had changed color burning orange-yellow, before going back to the light blue and all the animals had stopped making noise. It was dead quite, our harsh breathing panting in cohesion.

"What just happened?" Clove asked the obvious question running through our minds, her voice shaking as she straightened herself, brushing the dirt of her clothes, her shirt scraped down the middle, revealing her taut stomach. She looked around at us expectantly with her startled eyes and I shrugged at the beginning, facing Cato who was just looking around with his hands on his waist, his lip bit. He seemed shaken and caught off guard. He hated when he couldn't predict the situation and therefore couldn't plan ahead for it. I hurried to help me get back into action.

"Sounded like some sort of grenade maybe—" I started to answer once I realized that he wasn't going to participate in the conversation, too busy battling his mind. I observed the new scrapes on my hands, picking at the scabs, as Cato approached me swiftly, my blood waking him from his trance. He pulled me up from the ground, circling me to search for any injuries before placing a palm gently on my hands to shield them from my view so I wouldn't get panicked. I smiled at him to get him to calm down but he was set on his serious mood. I could tell by the way his shoulders had tensed that he was stressed out. He pulled me to his chest swiftly and I complied, hugging him tightly because though I thought that wasn't the right time for affection, I knew he needed the support and I wouldn't deny him that. My eyes never left the area behind him, hardening in anticipation, the woods ominously silent.

"The mines!" We all yelled simultaneously after moments of staring at the trees, epiphany hitting us like a wall of bricks. Somebody had activated the mines! But how had they made it past the District 3 boy? Thinking twice about it, that hypothesis did not seem all that unbelievable. We had left a nerdy-looking wimp to take care of our entire camp where the supplies, key to our survival, were sitting, perched in a pyramid that could be spotted miles away. I could understand what they had been trying to achieve with the fire. They wanted us to leave the Cornucopia unprotected. One of us should have stayed back.

Clove had surprisingly been the first one to sprint back, grabbing her backpack off the ground and breaking through the clearing rapidly. She was cursing, furious. She scared me when she got in those moods but I knew how much she despised the District 3 burden, having suggested that we murder his useless ass in his sleep many times. I should have listened to her.

Cato had called for her to slow down before cursing under his breath and weaving his hand into mine, dragging me along with him in the sprint back. I had been confused the first few steps, stumbling along the way, because I didn't think we had gotten over the shock long enough to be running again but apparently the District 2 tributes were bloodthirsty and ready to kill.

Once I had regained my composure enough to make it on my own, I pulled my hand away from him, keeping up just fine with his pace. He had growled at my distancing before understanding that we were much more efficient apart. As punishment though, he had started to run faster and I had grit my teeth in frustration, pushing myself to keep up with him. He could be such a tool when he didn't get his way.

I already knew that he would throw a tantrum when we got back to the Cornucopia. He had one due a while ago, having patiently swallowed it down every time my green eyes flashed at him wet and hurt. He hadn't exploded yet and I knew that couldn't be healthy, considering the pressure of the Games. He was angry; he felt cheated, outsmarted by the other sub-par tributes. He blamed himself for having miscalculated, having screamed at me when I had been right to warn them. The more I analyzed his reaction, the more I wished I had never let go of his trembling hand because it felt like he needed me to calm him down, wipe his eyes clean off the rage. I felt like I had let him down and it was dampening my mood, slowing my limbs. I opened my mouth to talk to him but he was staring ahead in determination and I snapped my lips shut again because it wasn't the time for amendments.

The District 3 kid greeted us at the edge of the forest and a part of me wished he had died already from the explosion because that would have been a better end for his life. Cato would most likely annihilate him. By the look of utter terror on his face, I knew he had understood the situation as well, resigned to his eventual death. He was trembling like a leaf, stuttering to the point of tearing up because he knew if he hadn't been useful before, he had definitely expired now. He made the mistake to step in Cato's way, trying to shield the evidence behind him, his eyes watered and terrified.

"Everything's gone! Fuck, Cato. Everything is burned to shit!" Clove screeched in panic, looking around like a lost child, attempting to pick up broken items before flinging them over the meadow. Her high-pitched tone drove Cato further down the insanity lane and his hands starting shaking in fury, his eyes narrowing in rage as he stared at the remaining ashes. I gulped audibly, inching forward to try and touch him gently, but the moment my fingers make contact with his elbow; he flinched away, pushing me back a couple of steps. It wasn't hard enough to physically hurt me but it sure did a lot of emotional damage. My eyes accused him silently but the emotions I realized couldn't pass through the violent shield he had placed ever since he saw the state of our non-existent camp.

"Not now, Marvel," he growled warningly and I sighed, distancing myself because I didn't want to get on his bad side. The boy in front of us had started pleading, his words muffled by his crying, his eyes never leaving my green ones, making Cato worse as he stepped in front of me to shield me from his pitiful look. He started to inch backwards, repeatedly addressing the fact that he didn't know what had happened, stuttering his sentences. That was most definitely the wrong answer. He was frustrating me too and I was finding it hard to feel bad for him because he was so fucking useless and he had costs us our entire batch of supplies. He had forced us back into the forest to live like animals and I was nervous.

"I'm going to ask you one. More. Time. And don't fucking tell me you don't know because you offend me, 3. You insult my intelligence," Cato stated in a clear, sadistically pleasant voice, crossing his arms and waiting patiently for an answer. I was surprised to note that he managed to be threatening at that stage of rage. From my experiences with Cato, I would have thought he would have killed the other already.

The brunette boy was down on his knees, crying openly. Clove had moved back to our side, standing close to me and staring down at my fidgeting hands, holding on to the sleeves of the gifted jacket. She seemed torn between which emotion to feel first, worry that we were stranded without supplies, pleasure that the boy was getting what he deserved or more worry that Cato was going to most likely lose control for un undetermined period of time.

"I swear on my mother's grave, I don't know. Please! I don't know," the other kept crying and groveling. His face had contorted in an ugly shade of white from the fear that clashed with the red from the sniveling. I knew what was going to happen next; I could feel it in the air as Cato cracked his knuckles. I also knew I should have not interfered because Cato was right. After all, we needed to eliminate the tribute anyway. He had made a grave mistake; he was unserviceable and he needed to be killed. Somehow I felt bad though. I felt as if it was turning us back to monsters, moving us back to step one and I didn't want to see Cato regress to that emotionless state. That was the sole reason why I stepped forward when I did, after he had warned me against it, told me he was to weak to protect me from his own demons.

"Cato, please babe—" I started murmuring, touching his arm again to hold him back and I felt him quiver in anger like a volcano about to explode before I saw black because he had punched me straight in the face and I felt as if he might have dislocated my aching jaw. I fell on the ground, landing painfully on my bum, my hands flying to my bleeding nose and bruising jawline. I didn't make noise at the pain, didn't complain about the injustice, because a part of me idiotically felt as if I had deserved it. Clove screamed his name in shock, racing forward to restrain him from doing me further damage only to be shoved backwards violently. She landed on her back, barely able to stop her head from slamming on the ground with her elbows and I wanted to reach her, ask her if she was all right, but my body was immobile in astonishment, my breath short and raspy.

Blood had filled my mouth and I didn't have the control to spit it out because for the first time in my life I was terrified of him, standing above me with a snarl. Because he had managed to crumble my defense walls and now there was nothing to protect me from being treated like that, like a useless child, like fucking shit! I stood there my hands covering my face, blood dripping from my nose and mouth on the green grass and my eyes stinging in tears that I refused to let fall. Clove whimpered my name once, crawling towards me in silence afraid to anger him more. She was as dazed as I by the impact and the turn of events, sitting there beside me, petting my hair in affection, and wanting to say his name again but fearing the consequences. I had only seen him that mad the time we fought on the training grounds but back then it hadn't hurt that much. In his state of wrath, he transformed completely. He didn't care about who he wounded; he burned bridges.

The District 3 boy realized the situation, standing up with impressive speed and running for his life. It only took Cato a second of hesitation where he stared at me before chasing after him, cursing and waving his massive sword. That time Clove and I did not interfere; we didn't even inch from our bloodied spot. I saw Cato in my last glance grasp the back of the tributes shirt, dragging him on the ground in agony, leaving a trail of blood where he walked. The other screamed and wailed, fighting back weakly. I lowered my eyes, placing my head in my knees and looking at the contrasting red in the green, fluffy grass. I could sense Clove beside me, leaning on my back and hugging me slightly, repeating:

"He didn't mean it, Marv. He cares about you so fucking much."

I didn't know if she was crying and I didn't know what she was crying about if she was. I didn't know if she as scared as I of the prospect of the end, the time where we would have to turn against each other. That was the first time I had seen her break completely though and I felt overwhelmed with the need to help her. Her reaction scared me because it told me I was right about feeling afraid. I wasn't just being paranoid.

From my position I heard the piercing scream of the boy as the sword clashed with his body. It made me squint my eyes to block it out. The sounds of gurgling and moaning followed it soon after, supplementing his screams until the cannon finally exploded announcing his death because of Cato's bruised _**pride**_; the fact that he couldn't admit he had made a mistake.

I raised my eyes after the booming noise because I thought it was over, finished, but I was met by the sight of him repeatedly stabbing the dead body with his mighty sword. I was repulsed at the grotesque spectacle of flying flesh and blood, detaching from the body. His face was caked in blood and his eyes looked crazy next to the blaring red color. I bit my lip, jumping up and dragging Clove with me because I knew that if we didn't leave now, we would be victims of his rage. He needed some time to calm down, regain his purpose. He had lost all rationality. It hurt to see him in that state. It made me feel betrayed—lied to because I thought he had changed.

Clove quickly understood my resolution and she grabbed a bag, holding it in front of her with one arm and grasping the edge of my sleeve with the other. I took one last look at him, kicking at the remaining items and screaming in frustration. I wanted to embrace him, ease his pain but I was scared that he was going to push me away again. I didn't want him to do something he was going to regret because I didn't want him to feel guilty so I chose to remove myself from the situation and offer him some time. My heart ached at showing my back to him and inching towards the forest but I knew I had to for his sake. I had to be the stronger one of the group, disregard emotion for the sake of our survival. Clove was sniffing beside me, nevertheless keeping up, and I grasped her small hand in mine, squeezing it in comfort.

I thought we were going to disappear unnoticed but I was wrong because midway through our walk to the edge of the dark forest line, he screamed our names, causing us to freeze on the spot, glued in fear. My heart sped up and my palms got sweaty. Clove whimpered from beside me, her hands trembling in anticipation. We heard him running towards us before turning around to face him. I didn't know if I was going to have to fight him for our lives but I knew that I wouldn't be able to. I couldn't hurt him; just the thought of it set my heart on fire. We waited there, rigid in apprehension and regret, for him to reach us.

I could see he had fallen from his rage, his eyes were distressed and his mouth was open in confusion. His hair and face were still covered in blood and his cheeks were stained where he had attempted to wipe it off to look presentable. He was looking straight at me, his eyes blue with innocence and his lips pouting. I couldn't understand if he had already shifted back to his normal self but just seeing him hurt broke my heart. I wanted to reach for him again but Clove's hands remained grasping the back of my shirt where she was hiding, grounding me and reminding me that he was dangerous at that moment. So I stood there looking back at him in hurt, my nose and mouth covered in dry blood and my eyes glassy.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice raw from the screaming and gruff from the cooling anger. He looked at Clove who lowered her eyes in submission, further sinking in my back, before he looked at me again, his eyes wide and his eyebrows raised. I couldn't answer him. I couldn't find my voice because it felt like if I said it, I would be abandoning him. So I stayed in silence, trying to figure out a way to express my emotions. Once he realized that we weren't going to say anything, he made to come closer and we both stepped back reflexively, flinching at his form.

He broke down.

Before I had time to process what was happening, he had completely shattered in front of me, kneeling down and wrapping his arms around my waist, his face buried in my stomach. He was screaming—sobbing—and his hands had grasped the back of my jacket so hard that I could feel it start to tear. Clove had jumped away in surprise, looking down at him and back at me in worry and absolute shock. I could see in her eyes that she had never seen him in that stage. I doubted he had ever been in that stage in his life, the broken stage.

"I am so sorry, baby. Please…_please_, forgive me. I fucked up. I know I did. Don't leave—don't leave me! I can't do it without you! I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Marv," he kept repeating over and over again, crying in my shirt, his shoulders heaving and his words slurring. My hands were frozen limp by my sides at the interaction before I realized he was interpreting it as a rejection, pleading for me to accept him again.

I rushed to hug him back, my fingers going through his hair and my lips kissing the top of his head lovingly. I wanted him to stop torturing himself. I couldn't stand the sight of him crying. I knew he had made a mistake but I couldn't help but ignore that when he was that distressed about it. He was clearly upset as seen by the fact that he had abandoned his shield for so long that he had allowed himself to shed tears for the first time since I met him. By the looks of it, for the first time since Clove met him too.

Eventually, his sobs subsided and he started to calm down as I continued caressing his head, unable to say anything because I was at loss for words. He had switched so fast that he had caught me unprepared. I didn't know whether to scold him or comfort him. I knew he had improved from last time though because he had managed to realize his mistake on his own and own up to it immediately. The fact that he was breaking down in front of me only served to tell me that the Games were starting to really take a toll on him; his nerves were suffering for it. I was surprised he had stayed strong for that long, unwavering even in deaths and injuries. But it seemed that the hopelessness, the isolation, the pressure had finally gotten to him. He was struggling and I needed to protect him, keep him untouched. I needed to find a way to end it fast, make him my winner.

I placed my palms on the side of his face, urging him to look at me and our eyes made contact. I could see his blue ones were rimmed in red, accentuating the blood on his face. They were looking up to me, vulnerable and loving. I smiled at him through the waste on my face to assure him that everything was okay and that he could stand up. He could stop begging for my forgiveness because he would always have it. He stood up on his feet, rising to his height and looking down at me, before his face, nuzzled my neck and his arms came to embrace me, holding me close to his beating heart.

"I love you. I'll never do that again, I promise," he whispered in my ear, kissing my cheek and gripping me tighter. I hugged him back, bathing in his warmth and support, wiping my face on his shirt and breathing his calming scent. I looked at Clove nod at me from where I was hiding behind his frame. She did not judge and she did not frown at my decision. On the contrary, she was smiling, having relaxed back into her state of indifference.

"He fucking adores you," she mouthed at me, rolling her eyes and shaking her head, grinning as the tension collapsed and we went back to our normal friendship. My fears evaporated and I thanked god that I didn't decide to stupidly enter the forest in the middle of the night. We would have time to think about our new plan after the supplies were gone. That night though, we would just celebrate the fact that we were still alive.

I heard the noise of the hovercraft as it appeared to pick up the mangled remains of the tribute boy but as I made to turn around and look Cato placed a hand on my head gently forcing me to stay put in his chest and not look their way. I didn't understand his actions and his decision only made me more curious. I saw Clove tense, frowning at their general direction, and I shifted around roughly just in time to see them pointing at our torn clothes with satisfying smirks on their faces, clearly telling us that we were next. Cato flipped the bird, still getting me to not face their way, while Clove crossed her arms, glaring heatedly at the gamekeepers.

I found the entire experience disturbing because usually the game-makers would not give you these clues. I knew better than the District 2 tributes to take their threats seriously. There was something coming for us, something big. They had put up with our defiance for too long and they were getting restless. Seneca was being overpowered and soon, he would not be able favor me any longer like he told me he would try his hardest too in his surprise visit before I left. He told me I deserved to win and I thanked him, accepting his awkward hug, because I knew I would never see him again. I knew the young boy he met, who clung to his neck and giggled about his beard, would be gone for good at the hands of his creation. He realized too, his crystal eyes falling, that I was rooting for somebody else now.

We had served our purpose just like the District 3 boy had served his and that meant we were going to be hunted down. I wondered if Gloss was aware; I wondered if he would try to help. Deep inside I didn't want him to fight them, having seen how heated he and Seneca could get over my fate, screaming at each other's faces, their eyes freezing the air in the room. Glimmer had once joked about there being sexual tension between them. I had laughed, horrified.

As I finally turned around to see nothing but thin air, I felt the tension raise again, all three of us staring at the darkening sky. The sun set slowly, making room for the darkness and we heard the familiar anthem play. The notes and the melody had started to make me want to cringe. As we turned around to face the hologram, we all stiffened at the realization that there was only one death, the District 3 boy. The person who exploded our supplies and raised the difficulty level was still alive. They had been close and they had managed to trick us. They were working in an alliance, that much was now certain and they were done hiding.

I didn't know who it was and I didn't know whether to be afraid but I knew it was time to step it up. There had been enough playing around in the sun. We were down to the last lucky seven and the risks were higher than ever. Cato and Clove shared a glance before smirking at each other, both having come to the same deduction: it was time to fight and fight hard, fight to the end.

The finish line was in sight…an optical illusion made it seemed farther than it actually was because if I had stretched at that exact moment in time, cuddled between the District 2 Careers, I would have touched it with my flimsy fingers.

* * *

Omnipotent Narrator

"_Help him. There must be—" The blonde protested angrily, his hands waving in the air, the exertion from his previous vent having forced his body on the plush chair offered. He could see the gaming room on his left through the blackened window. He could stare at the Careers, at his curly-haired boy, lying awake in the tent, his eyes a misty green of desolation. _

_The stats beeped all around the big, omni screen. Fifteen days, seventeen hours and thirty-six minutes since the time his heart stopped at the gong. Only mere hours away from action being taken, the workers speedily designing the snarling dogs, their eyes glinting wildly. They knew their next targets._

"_I _cant._ There is only so much I can fucking do, Gloss. My hands are tied," The taller man mentioned, placing his hands together in demonstration, glaring his icy blue eyes at the other who frowned. The coat was forgotten on the opposing chair, his white button down disheveled and unbuttoned, the light hair on his chest, glinting in the dull, secretive lights. "This is different."_

"_How is it different? You want him to win—Snow wants him to win!" Gloss exclaimed, his eyes judgmental and his lips pursed as the other fidgeted with his fancy beard, leaning on the table behind him and staring at the gorgeous blond who had begun sipping on his glass of champagne, seeking comfort in alcohol. Seneca knew he needed some himself, trudging to the cart and pouring the sparkling, off-white liquid. _

"_Snow wants me to mud the water. Look at him, Gloss. He's weak—he's not going to fight for himself. I cannot save people that don't want to be saved," The raven-haired one muttered, downing his first glass and going speedily for the second with less shaky hands. The blond sighed behind him, fidgeting with his tie, loosening it in annoyance. They both knew what they were risking, having the meeting in the first place. That was not how honorable people played the game but Seneca would be damned if he would lose all the time he had invested in the District 1 gem who was proving to be more defective than everybody thought._

"_What happens now?" The mentor asked in resignation, dropping the prior subject temporarily, the pace of the conversation slowing down again enough for them all to be able to breathe. He followed the other with his eyes as he plopped on the armchair in front of him, propping one of his legs on the table. _

"_We force them into the forest, drive them all towards the middle. Let things happen from there I suppose," Seneca explained, shrugging apathetically, the second glass slamming on the table, empty, making a ringing sound that reminded the blond to go refill his, his eyes skimming the screen where cameras were filming the two District 2 Careers talking._

"_Are they going to betray him, hmm?" Seneca muttered, wondering out-loud, his attention on the screen as both of them settled to hear Cato and Clove talk about the end. Gloss leaned on the glass window, thanking it for being a one-way mirror so nobody could see him in the other's company. He would be executed alongside the pompous game-maker and he couldn't have that because he needed Seneca still to keep Marvel alive. That was the only reason, he said to himself._

"_Cato wouldn't allow that." Indeed, the blond in the arena was arguing with Clove about her guaranteeing Marvel's safety until the very end. The black-haired, knife-pixie was hesitant because how could she possibly promise to let the three of them be the last ones there, knowing that the boys would gang up on her. She wouldn't have a chance and she was losing the one at the moment, Cato pressuring her to submit. He was a bully and it was morbidly contradicting to see him be so abusive to commit such a loyal action and save his 'love'. _

_Seneca groaned, his head falling backwards on the couch. He seemed disappointed that the drama hadn't continued, Clove retreating to her tent with a poignant expression, Cato clutching his hair in a heart-wrenching one, his eyes on the fire. "If only he wasn't always fucking there."_

"_You're jealous," Gloss pointed out, smirking towards the other who gave him a cheeky grin, waving his glass in the air impatiently until the other one took it and handed it back full. The liquor had clearly loosened the game-makers tongue, his eyes lethargic and his mood more upbeat than usual. He had low tolerance though he drank like a fiend at every event. _

"_I'll tell you what. Get him to run for the forest tonight, abandon the brats from 2 for good and I guarantee he doesn't run into any trouble. How about it, Gloss? You'll have your boy-toy back," The icy-blue eyes were teasing him and the blond ran a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh, his forehead on the cool material of the glass separation as he stared at his lost protégé. _

"_Watch your mouth, bastard," Gloss snapped heatedly at the insinuation, earning a scowl from the other one who would have done much more had he not been floating in a peaceful state of inebriation. The mentor might have lost his tongue if he didn't make use of it anytime soon. Now the instigator was looking at him in interest, wanting to push him a little further, get him to rile up. He liked the fight in the silver eyes. He hadn't seen it since the Games where the teenaged blond, proud and good-looking, had stood victorious in the middle of the arena, blood on his face. That was a warrior and that was definitely not Marvel no matter how much both of them had tried to make the curly-haired boy change into their image of the perfect Career._

"_This bastard has been watching your sexy, little behind ever since you got that morbid fascination with that little child. It's okay though, blondie, your secret's safe with me," The brunette purred, stretching comfortably in the couch, staring at the little mouse fidget to come up with a response. It was uncertain what had gone down but Gloss made it so easy to provoke him. Snow would be the only one that knew for certain whether Marvel had been touched that night Gloss came back, stumbling in clumsiness, eight years ago, that left the younger bleeding and unconscious on Seneca's door. _

"_You do not know what you're talking about." A whispered plea for the conversation to end as the other gave up his glass, placing it on the table as a shrine. The other's icy blue shone in fascination, watching the man, paralyzed in indecision and infatuated by the big screen where his little follower was talking to him, asking for help like he always did when he was alone._

"_What do you tell him now, Glossy? Will you be selfish?" The game-maker asked, standing up and moving beside him, their hands leaving prints on the glass. Blue met gray and both of them measured each other up to see if one would give in. The blond lowered his eyes in submission, knowing he needed to improve his attitude if his next request would get anywhere. _

"_One more day, Seneca. For him…" The tone was pleading and the exhaustion behind it evident._

"_Do you want me to _die_?" The sarcastic remark left the amused lips as the owner of them moved towards the door, opening it and turning around with a serious face. "Send the note. Give him my ultimatum and let him make his own choices. There's only so much you can do to satisfy that guilt of making it up to him."_

"_He won't go for it. He's not mine anymore."_

_Whispered words, shrouded in longing and hopelessness._


	15. Babylon The Great's Vanagloria Part II

**Chapter 15 – Babylon The Great's Vanagloria**

**Part II/V**

Marvel's POV

Lying next to his fallen form, peacefully sleeping after many nights of nightmares, felt unreal. Everything from last night's events felt like a lazy dream, a dark haze almost. I knew it was my fault they were screaming at each other in broken rage though they moved away from my tent towards the still lake. I heard their retreat, silent and heavy, gulping to myself and cuddling further in the sleeping bag. I didn't let myself think that Cato would take her away from me for good—I couldn't imagine the last glimpse I got of her dark eyes being there between the flaps of the lonely tent. He wouldn't do that to the alliance though dinner had been charged, hurtful remarks being thrown back and forth. I had excused myself early to avoid the toxins they were releasing because I liked them both and I didn't want to be influenced by whatever bitterness had torn them apart.

I hadn't expected Gloss to reply when I called for him, half asleep in my midnight delirium. I didn't think he had time to indulge me that much especially because I was whining more than I was winning. An important difference to the Capitol audience who would have abandoned me had it not been for the relationship that Cato and I were trying hard to make work.

When I heard the beeping of the parachute, reaching for the capsule and pulling it to my chest, I didn't know I would wish I had never asked for his advice. In tremulous writing that ached in unexpressed hesitation he had told me to move away—he had rejected every progress I had made, everything that had placed a smile on my constantly hurt face. He had told me to break his past teachings and abandon my alliance forever. I couldn't understand why he was doing it and the knowledge that his lack of support provided pained me dearly. My eyes stung, trying to re-read the lines, hoping that there had been a mistake, some underlying meaning.

"_It may be that the satisfaction I need depends on my going away, so that when I've gone and come back, I'll find it at home. Grab a bag and run for the forest-line—we shall guide you safely as long as you don't bring your…comrades. Trust me, Marv." _

He had asked me to trust him when he wasn't placing any importance on the trust Cato and Clove had on me. He was ignoring my obvious attachment, demeaning it ruthlessly, when he knew how much too much I loved Cato. My mind reeled at the possibilities, attempting to morph into a version of my mentor in order to understand his logic. Was it a test from the Capitol? Would they come for me and me only? Gloss would have never lied about my safety so that meant they were coming for the other two, they wanted them dead and they wanted it fast. Tomorrow would be the day they took action to get us to fight each other, the skies had darkened and the storm was closer than ever.

I had thanked Gloss none-the-less, placing the ugly note in my pocket with the rest of them but that time it wasn't to preserve its painful existence. It was to prevent Cato or Clove from ever stumbling upon it. I would burn it, annihilate his advice, but I didn't want to lose any respect from the fans. He was my mentor and he had done for me what others would never think twice of doing. His conscience's job was to warn me of the possibilities and to do his best to keep me, and solely me, alive. He had the way but I didn't have the will to take the path, staring at it in nostalgia, noticing the bright light at the end with pitiful eyes. I stayed back where I belonged now, the arena had made the new me and it would break it when my mission was complete.

I thought I had been trained to keep track of my emotions but it seemed as if I didn't excel at the task because ever since my name was called on the reaping day, not only was I not able to control my flaky feelings but also I was not able to identify them as dangerous until it was always too late, too deep down the swirling drain. It was weird to not understand what happen to my body after having worked my entire childhood to have an inhumane control over it, enduring extreme pain without the twitch of an eye. I could watch myself bruise and I could feel myself bleed. But when Cato had come in the picture, when his hand had inflicted those gashes on my trained back, I had choked at the searing pain, cried at the agony of abandonment. He had touched me once with his fists, officially shattering my thick, well-built barrier.

Sometimes thinking about the pain, I woke up in the middle of the night, unable to breath and clutching the bed sheets, sweat dripping down my forehead. Those nights where the nights the dreams got the best of me, when I had repressed so many emotions in my subconscious that they wanted to come out, seek revenge for being kept enslaved unable to express themselves. They wanted to avenge the injustice at the same time, so I ended up having dreams where happiness merged into fear, changing forms, morphing into new combinations of sensations: anticipation and anxiety, fear and lust. As much as I wanted to keep it inside, it bled into my consciousness. It slowly changed me and sometimes, just sometimes, when I was weak enough, worn out by the environment, those sadistic emotions would take control and lead me towards dangerous paths.

That was how I viewed my relationship with Cato. He was able to unleash my hidden secrets as if he was their master. He might as well have been. I had never been the master of my own feelings—the Capitol had made sure of that—so now they simply had somebody else to collect them, cherish their broken, imperfect forms. I think even Seneca knew he was defeated, that the breath-taking boy from District 2 had volunteered himself, changing fate quite literally and ruining their divine plans. I had seen his face fall when the blonde's hand shot up, his feral voice, demanding to be a volunteer, strong and unwavering in the face of his friends' horror. I hadn't realized back then that Seneca had been smart enough to see up to the point that I was living presently.

He had though and he had made some of it possible with the methods he tried to break us with. They had not expected to be cornered by their own rules. I gave them credit because in the beginning they had tried to fight it, tempting us to hate each other's guts, putting us against each other in a display that we were too much alike to be friends. They had pushed too hard. Like they always pushed too hard! Like they broke children mentally, taking them from their happy homes, training them to achieve a perfection that was genetically impossible, repeatedly convincing them, with big words and fake smiles, that they could if they just tried hard enough—one more round, one more sin, one more sacrifice.

They pushed too hard when they tried to train me and unwillingly pulled back, letting me go, freeing me from their clutches and labeling me as defective, unusable. They had returned me home, knowing that destiny would call me back at some point, predicting that my sociopathic self would never be able to assimilate in normal society after years of conditioning to be deviant. They might have moved away from fucking with my mind, focusing the training solely on my body, but at that point it had been too late, the stable aspect was long gone, Gloss being the only one to rapidly put it back together in a few words. They were too late, because the damage had been done and no one back home could come close to taking it back. So they waited for me to come to them, _beg_ them to return to the crazy because the calm didn't produce adrenaline for me anymore, the calm made me need other methods of high.

Without learning from their mistakes, they had been too forceful again, demanding my isolation, and somehow they had made me cross the boundary between love and hatred, pushing me on the side they were not familiar with, the side they couldn't step on without burning like vampires in the sun. They had accidently dropped me there and they couldn't retrieve me because no matter how many times they called, I sat there looking at their faces for the first time from further away. They weren't scary anymore, the fangs were small compared to their bodies and their limit was obvious. I had sat there observing their pathetic attempts at manipulating the boundary for a long time, unable to walk on my own, until my guardian angel, the shedder of light had picked me up and taught me how to step forward, leave them behind without turning back.

I loved him. I must have. I wasn't too sure because I had never experienced how love felt, what it meant to care about someone deeply, wait for them to return by your side with an aching heart, want to be their drive every day they awoke to your eyes above them. Those feelings they made certain to eliminate immediately. If I ever loved my mother, I wouldn't know. I couldn't remember. I remembered them saying I had no mother though. I remembered crying at the other Capitol children, growing up happy without having to know the fear that the Districts endured. I remembered the toxic bitterness that had consumed me as a child when I pulled that little boy's bunny out of his hands with a rip, tearing his plushy head open with my teeth and making him bawl for his mother, the thing I didn't have.

No, I didn't know how to love but I knew that he was special like I was supposed to be. He was the one who could make me ache, a dull, deep ache in the middle of my chest. Seeing his brilliant smile fogged up all my other concerns. It made me forget to hide; it made me want to be happy, want to be present. It was as if he could tame the thoughts that constantly tortured me with a single caress. When he touched me, I felt safe, protected, wanted not because of superficial qualities, qualities that were so far away from what humanity used to once value. I loved him because I knew how fragmented he was and he still attempted to step across the broken glass, bare foot, to glue me back together.

He let me have my space, let me run around free from expectations, but he always appeared at just the right time to catch me before I collapsed of exhaustion. We were so similar and yet so different. He could understand without knowing the facts. He didn't need to ask about the haunting details. He could see past my front because he himself had constructed one from scratch. He pushed me to be better in ways that no one had ever tried. He was the only one that succeeded in making me do things against my common sense because I would get hurt to see him smile, because the benefits always outweighed the costs and I knew that without having to constantly calculate it.

Manually breathing life in me, he sustained me every single day because the day I saw him, he took my breath away.

* * *

That night after having returned from the confrontation with red-rimmed eyes only to collapse in my inviting arms, he had been restless, overcome with whimpering nightmares. I realized that there was a trend between the days he abandoned sleep and the days he killed. I had known what he would be mumbling in his sleep: 'murderer' because I knew what his nightmares sounded like at this point. I had experienced them first hand during his recovery when he screamed for help, crying about being alone. These were slightly different. He didn't wake up screaming, he didn't voice anything at all about the hell he was going through when his eyes first opened. He just wavered between consciousness and unconsciousness, pulling me to his beating chest and snuggling against my back, nuzzling his nose against my curly locks. At times he talked to me, mumbled slowly half-asleep; he apologized a lot and he confessed his love over and over again.

I always replied to his pleas because I wanted him to be able to get some rest. I didn't know whether he could hear what I was whispering or understand what I was trying to tell him but I knew that he relaxed just from the sound of my voice and his grip lightened, his hands no longer clutching my shirt with white, shaking knuckles.

He was close to his breaking point, that much was clear, and I wondered how much longer it would take him to give up completely, expel his pain to the outer world in loud tantrums and violent, self-destructive measures. He would not be a quiet sufferer—he would go out with a bang. I needed to know how exhausted he was mentally so I accounted for it, tried to finish everything before he got the chance to lose his spirit. He was my fighter and I would make sure he never ended up delusional and demented, living in a world of shallow regrets and unattainable wishes.

I had found it impossible to sleep after last night's confrontation. I kept thinking about the gamekeepers and their signal, about Gloss and his message, about Seneca and his obvious wish for me to be his lone winner. I kept thinking about the other tributes, the ones who had charged our camp, broken down our defense. Where they watching us at the moment? Waiting for the perfect time to slaughter us? Was Clove in danger? Was Clove _the_ danger?

I didn't know the exact time when had we become the prey. I believed it was because as we became softer, understanding that we would never get the chance to feel if we did not take it, they became harsher, more inhumane in desperation to return to the people who they had already given a chance to. They're families were out there, waiting for them to return. My only one was here, in danger and in ruins. Soon, I wouldn't have one again.

At one point, I had detached myself from his body and moved outside. I knew I wasn't getting any sleep so I felt the need to replace Clove on guard duty. When I had tapped her in the shoulder, she had jumped before questioning me. I had told her about my insomnia and convinced her to get some rest because we would need her at her best tomorrow. She had reached up to kiss me on the cheek before entering the other tent and shuffling to get ready for bed. I had sat down next to the fire, warming my feet and looking silently at the stars. I had wondered what Gloss was doing. Had he been watching me at all times? Would I let him down? I wouldn't be able to stand that. He had been with me from the very start, supported me when no one else believed. He had told me that I was my own person, that I would find my purpose.

One hour in my meditation, Cato had stumbled behind me out of the tent, his eyes fogged with sleep and his mouth yawning insistently. He had whined about how he missed me and I had known he needed my presence to sleep though he wasn't admitting it. He had told me he wasn't sleepy and that he would stay up with me, keep me company and I had rolled my eyes and smiled, patting the space next to me. I had known he just wanted to stay close to my side; he had been worried, because the moment he lay himself on the grass, head on my lap, he drifted to sleep again, making me believe he had understood nothing of our conversation. It had been a warm night so I had let him cuddle in my lap as I protected him and Clove from dangers that they had yet to know about.

Clove had replaced me again after a couple of hours, chuckling dryly when she saw Cato's draped form now invading my entire lap area and snoring softly in my damp shirt. I had smiled at her, pretending to be annoyed as I had nudged the blonde awake and motioned towards the tent. As much as he seemed to be enjoying the hard ground, the sun would start to show itself soon and he needed sleep, finally free from the guilt that manifested itself into nightmares. He needed his energy because when the sun hit the top of the sky, we would be running.

As I crawled next to him, running my fingers against the hard contours of his body, I thought of my newfound freedom, trying to assess my next move. I swallowed my emotions, my fear of losing them and my hesitation to kill again, so I could think strategically, become one of them, the cruel ones. I had to create a distraction so their original plan of driving us in fell short. I had to make Seneca jump off his seat in excitement to stare at me appreciatively with his crystal blue eyes.

Cato stirred beside me, shifting under my little touches, lightly opening his blue eyes momentarily to look down at me, lying awake on his chest, my eyes never having closed. He seemed confused at our change in scenery before he remembered, his pupils narrowing again towards my lips. He offered me a small smile, grabbing my head and moving my face towards his, kissing me chastely on the cheek before drawling sleepily,

"Go back to sleep, babe. We got a long day ahead."

We sure did and he had no idea yet how big it actually would be. I didn't have the heart to tell him though in that moment. Seeing his angelic face, I noticed the other path, the shortcut open up in a tempting invite. I would please Gloss one last time, make him appreciate how much I cared about him before I wouldn't be able to anymore. I would run like they wanted me to run. Sprint to their safety, the spot Seneca had been dumb enough to disclose, touching my bangs and whispering in my ear during training. I would play them like they wanted to play me but it was my game now and I hoped they enjoyed it. After all the blue-eyed game-maker had told me they favored games at the Capitol.

It pained me to know I had to leave his warm side. It hurt me to kiss him in his tender neck as if it was the last time because though I never kept it at the forefront of my mind, the back knew it might be. It killed to think about never seeing his perfect from again but simultaneously, he was the one who had given me the strength to be able to take definitive action in the first place against the monsters who were not kind like they had persuaded me to think, bribing me with luxury. He had released the real me, caged up as a child, still coming out as young, fearless and naive. He had unleashed the wild, sickly dog, infested with rabies, vengeful at the world. I would outrun their dogs and I would win the race. It was my turn to go against the Capitol, make a name for myself. Do something, anything, that would let me know I had surpassed them in reality, suppressed them in my mind. Flip a finger in the air and scream 'I don't _give_ a fuck, bitch'.

I doubt Cato's smug and smirking face would object to that.

* * *

I knew Clove would suspect when she looked at my hardened eyes. She had to with my sudden appearance not by Cato's side, all dressed up and geared to go. I didn't know to what extent she would object to my rash decision. I didn't know if she would attack me and I prayed against it, not willing to raise my hand against her. I didn't know if in her mind I had morphed into a traitor. She looked at me from her position on the ground, eyes round and pleading, so unlike the killer I had seen her be, so unlike the killer she wasn't meant to be. I had grown fond of her because seeing people vulnerable makes you like them more. I had seen her scared, clinging to Cato for protection. I had seen her at a loss for words, lost in general. I had seen her human, emotional and desperate. I had seen me in her, our decisions mirroring each other, our insanity shining in the other's clear eyes.

When she stood up from her spot, facing me with a solemn expression on her face, her lips a hard line and her eyes glazed in thoughts, I knew she was like us; she had been tainted. She picked up my spear and handed it to me, offering it from her small palms. She didn't speak a word, did not ask about my reasons. She gave me permission to search her eyes where I found, amongst the feelings of sadness and fear, one that spoke loud and clear, screaming and banging against her cruel shield: 'I know. I have _seen_ and I understand.'

She turned her back to me, reaching for an object in her jacket pocket and placing it in my palm with a determined expression giving me a nod. I could feel the smooth, metallic surface as she kept gripping my hand and looking into my eyes in wild passion.

"If you are in any type of danger, light a fire and I will be there," she whispered, lowering her eyes before turning to face the tent I just came out of, "_he_ will be there."

I opened my hand to see a beautifully carved lighter, sleek and expensive. She must have sneaked it in through the arena somehow because I doubted that was part of our supplies. It was one of a kind. It must have meant a lot to her and she was giving it to me.

"The moment he enters the forest, he will be hurt," I whispered harshly, low in my breath, not giving her explanations because she didn't ask for some. She nodded to let me know she would keep him safe, despite their little argument.

My eyes had begun to sting because our interactions felt too final, like she was going to be swept by the wind, out of my life permanently. She stood on her tippy-toes giving me a kiss on the cheek and murmuring,

"Be safe, brother."

And I ran, sprinted towards the dangerous forest like my mentor had begged me to do because I couldn't look at her anymore.

Because that wasn't good-bye.

* * *

I sprinted in the dew-stained grass of the forest, maintaining my pace and looking at the blurring trees and meadows, trying to search for the appropriate place. I could hear the birds chirping loudly, alerting the rest of the animals that it was daylight, just as clearly as I could hear the gamekeepers in my mind. They were not stupid to fall for my trick for too long; Seneca was not stupid. He would come after me, as soon as he noticed my course. He would fight me as soon as he realized that I wasn't obeying… I was going against, the path of lights they had set to guide me, long forgotten behind my back.

"_**Intercept him." Apathetic, disappointed. The toy was self-destructing.**_

They would probably try to veer me off track, most likely using natural phenomena at first. They always said they liked to make their presence as unknown as possible to the oblivious audience. The light blue fading lights had not been natural at all though. Was the Capitol trying to reinforce their power by showing that they were aiding me, giving me the unfair advantage openly? Were they trying to encourage other victims to approach their spider-we in return for guaranteed victory? They would need to replace me.

I jumped of a ledge, landing on all fours, before bursting up full speed and navigating through the dense forest. I was going strictly on memory, more specifically the cognitive map they had been foolish enough to provide for me. Did they never see my actions coming? Had they never experienced the whiplash? I thought Seneca would know by then how unexpected I really could be. I guess their noses were too high up in the air, blocking their view of anything that did not correspond to their reality and shadowing the people below them into metaphorical non-existence.

"_**Stop him, now, now!" Caught off-guard. On the defensive, shielding vital parts from the uncontrollable unknown.**_

Would they use fire like they had used with the District 12 girl? They wouldn't really want to destroy another half of the forest, it would leave them too unconcealed, not to mention the wasted cameras that would probably not be replaced soon. No, they would not set another fire. They were too proud to use the same technique twice, meaning most likely I would have something after me, chasing me to my death or at the very least back to camp. I tried to slow my pace; retaining my energy in case I needed to compete in a test of endurance against a genetically modified animal, probably the mutts. They had managed to slip that piece of information to me as well, showing me their designs with twisted pride. That would be too anti-climactic, the move being the finale and all. Was this the finale?

"_**Sir, she is about to crash straight into him." Understanding of the game that was about to be played. A piece moves forward on the board.**_

The forest seemed dead. It made me wonder where the other tributes where. Probably hiding out till the very end, knowing that the Careers would sooner or later hunt them down. They would want to maintain their health, hoping to be the last one caught, by that time maybe being able to outsmart the pack that would be worn out and possibly injured. That did not seem like a bad strategy. Everyone knew we would hunt them down like animals. The Capitol tried its hardest to make us look like brutal, killing machines with no conscience. They were mad at the moment because we had no made moves fast enough. We had hesitated too much so they had to pick up our slack, place us in danger, and worsen their crumbling reputation.

"_**Trap her before she sneaks away." Relief. A scapegoat had appeared. The blame had been passed.**_

A piercing scream stopped in in my tracks and I lost my footing, sliding down the small hill and rolling around on the dirty floor. Upon getting up, I looked around in panic, raising my spear. Was someone around? Had they gotten another tribute? I was not alone anymore that much was clear. The rules had changed, the path blurred.

The screams kept coming and my heart sped up thinking of the brutal torture that the young girl most be going through. She was screaming for help, her thin voice making me believe it was 11, but I didn't know why she would plead. There was nobody out there and I doubted even if there had been, they would help her situation. Who was she talking to with that familiarity? The birds kept chirping the same tune above us, irritating my nerves at the repetition.

I waited, frozen in a crouching position, hiding behind the trees, silent as predator. Where was the cannon? The screeches were persistent, filling the air and making the hair on my arms rise. She was practically sobbing. _Jesus, die already._ What were they doing to her? I realized the detour was delaying me. It was probably a trap. I had to gain distance, run away. No matter who it was, it would not particularly like me. I prepared to return to my original plan, starting to jog away silently, pleading for the penetrating, high-pitched madness to end. Then I heard it and I froze on the spot, looking back in the direction of the shouting with disbelief.

"Katniss! Help! Help!" The voice phrased, the air delivering the message to my perked up ears and my widened eyes. It couldn't be. How had Seneca gained that pawn?

She was talking to the District 12 girl, our greatest enemy, the one who was a bitch to track down, the one who killed Glimmer. They were in an alliance and knowing the screams were probably affecting Fire Girl as much as me, she would come to the rescue. She would be there so close in distance.

I was torn, looking in both directions. They were luring me in again but it was such a good opportunity to pass on. I could outsmart them, prove them wrong about my killing abilities. I could take their plan and foil it. With two more tributes down, especially the strongest one with a score of 11, the Careers would glide to the finish, avoid the finale for a little longer. I could provide the entertainment they needed to avoid attacking Clove and Cato. I could be their scapegoat for one…last…time.

I cursed under my breath as I sprinted backwards towards the direction of the screams, knowing fully well I could crash straight into the District 12 girl. I was telling myself to get there first and eliminate one of them. Seeing as she wasn't dead yet, she must have been trapped. She would be an easy target. Then, I would wait until the other one showed up and finish her off as well, hoping the cannon doesn't deter her form her tracks. I didn't want to chase anyone anymore. I didn't want to be the predator.

"_**He's ahead, sir." Danger. The underdog could make it. He had not hesitated enough.**_

"_**Estimated time?" Reluctance to lose. He would fall…hard.**_

"_**One minute, forty seconds to destination." Too close. Too good at figuring it out.**_

"_**Slow him down." Last ditch effort. Hold your breath. **_

I heard the crack of the trunk before I saw the massive tree heading towards me and I jumped out of the way, barely able to dive to safety, avoid my limbs being crushed to Jell-O. The ground was hard where I landed and it knocked the breath out of me, devastating my lungs into coughing. They were trying hard to get to me—they had brought out the big guns, which meant they were scared. I jumped on my feet and over the trunk, not missing a beat and continuing my pace. My legs were protesting in alarm; the screams were getting closer more urgent and I could hear the other girl scream back. Shit. She was close; they both were.

The ground quivered below me and that time I didn't have a warning before the ground in front of me dropped, creating an uneven terrain that. My knees gave away and I slid on my ass all the way to the bottom of the newly created hill, not letting myself get fazed by the burning scratches. I had to keep going. There was no way back now. The only way was forward. I had to keep fighting. For Gloss. For Clove. For Cato.

I knew the audience was labeling me, calling me bloodthirsty. After all I had changed my course immediately after sensing an opportunity to kill. I didn't sadden because they couldn't judge me! They had no right! I wouldn't let them! They couldn't hurt me anymore with their empty promises. They didn't know what it was like to fear for your lives, for the lives of your friends. They didn't know anything.

"_**Ten seconds to confrontation." Winning the war and losing my perfect creation, watch it shatter into pieces that stuck on the walls permanently.**_

I reached the clearing, jumping off the bushes to see that I had not beaten her like I previously thought, not allowing my brain to fret. She was crouching on the ground, desperately holding the hand of the little girl, screaming before, caught in a trap like I had previously thought, the net separating their interaction. It was the dark-skinned girl from District 11, on the ground scared like a small rabbit with its foot caught, her fear young and breath-taking.

I realized that the moment of truth had arrived, that I had exactly one second to make a decision, the decision to sink my spear into her oblivious body, rip her heart open. I raised my hand, the spear weighing me down in denial, aiming for the oblivious District 12 girl whose eyes shone in tears for the young, innocent one. I was going to eliminate the final threat. I was going to do it for Cato and Clove, for the win. About to throw the spear, my own mind betrayed me like I had never seen it before.

"Don't lie to yourself. You're doing exactly what they thought you would. You are doing this for the Capitol. You are making Seneca proud," A dangerous part of my mind whispered and for a moment, I thought I had heard it because it was so loud. My eyes narrowed at the change in scenery as I imagined her young sister, the blonde one with the big blue eyes that shattered in horror when they took her only guardian away.

I saw her little frame, standing in front of me with streaks down her hollow cheeks, pointing at me and screaming 'murderer'. I saw myself, young and curly-haired, wiping my nose on my sleeve and sobbing 'murderer'. I gaped at Cato, tiny and blond, a small brunette girl I recognized as Clove, clinging on his shirt. They all screamed 'murderer' and I realized if I continued, I would keep the cycle running. I would step aside to offer the beasts all the innocent children so they trapped them, used their emotions against them, made them volunteer.

I saw the eighteen-year-old version of Primrose, hardened and rebellious, full of rage and hatred, volunteering for the sole sake of taking from them what I took from her. I saw her agonized eyes and I couldn't go on. Only then did I realize, I had long ago given up.

I halted in the shock of denial, the children surrounding my frozen self, looking up to me in fear, vying for my protection. The girl in front of me shifted towards me, her grey eyes accusing, and I startled in surprise, throwing the spear in the air by reflex, hating myself for ever coming back, for ever letting myself be their toy. The weapon glided in the air, breaking the distance to her traumatized eyes. But the moment had gone; the one second had passed. She saved herself, reaching for her weapon and jumping out of the way by instinct, not realizing she had taken away the other tributes only shield and chance at survival.

I watched in regret as my spear lodged into the young girls flesh who screamed one final time, the same scream that ensnared me into the trap in the first place, that drove me off my goal, that saved the Capitol. The scream of every little child, pleading for me to be their hero when I couldn't. I was a villain, defective. I wasn't strong enough.

I felt the pain shoot through me spontaneously and I looked down just in time to see the head of the arrow, slice through the thin skin of my flat stomach and into my body, lodging inside of me, not breaking all the way through. I yelled in agony, hearing the sound of my own voice echo, scaring away the illusion of the little ones watching in horror as I dropped on my knees in pain, my hand reaching the weapon I had so easily broken back in the training room, disregarding it. The whole world shook for a moment; my eyes blurred in blood—could have been tears. I saw the ruby droplets falling on the ground mesmerized, marking my end.

The District 12 girl realized the situation with one last regretful look at my sad smile, regaining her position by the smaller girl's frame, whispering empty words of comfort that I had nobody to tell me. I knew I had to leave, escape while I was still conscious, try to get to camp where my angel was. I knew I couldn't enter heaven without him opening the doors to it, his wings taking me up there, my sore, injured body, cradled in his arms. I bit the pain away and pushed myself up because it still didn't hurt that bad and I could do it. I could survive. I had been through worse situations.

Stumbling out of the clearing and into the woods, leaning on the trunks and holding my wound, I knew with absolute certainty that I could never make it back on time after I felt the tickling sensation of dripping blood run down my chin. I must have been close to an hour away from the Cornucopia. I couldn't run; I couldn't breathe properly with the pain dominating my body. I slumped against a tree, vomiting blood and the remains of my breakfast, the last thing to ever go in my stomach. As I sat there in a puddle of my own gore, I thought of the first time I had shed blood in the Cornucopia. That dread must have been what those tributes felt, the ones that didn't have a chance because they were too good to kill. Kill…

I used to be a soldier, a warrior, that never lost his path, always knew what to do to endure. Never lost a single battle to his emotions, to his captors who constantly tried to break him. They had thought I was perfect for the arena. They must have been wrong because I didn't know what to do at the moment. I was lost. I prayed for someone to show me the way or just let me die there quickly. I was scared, thinking under the shadows of the trees, that I would never see the sky again—I would never see Gloss again. Somewhere far away, deep in the heart of the forest, I heard the wind whisper in my ear, 'Remember you are not alone'.

I needed Cato. I needed my protector if only for a few last minutes. I regretted having deserted the camp without properly telling him. I regretted taking it all on myself, thinking I could be strong enough. If I had shared he would have stopped me or worse he would have come with me and that would place him in danger. It wasn't about pride. It was about compassion. I shuddered, thinking it could have been him in my position and I thanked god that I had made the decision that way. He was strong. He was going to win. I just wanted to see him one last time. I wanted to be selfish for a little longer.

I knew the danger I was putting him by lighting the fire. Because he would come running for me, alongside all the other tributes that were alive, Thresh with his monstrous form and Katniss with her burning revenge. They would come for me and maybe get him too. I just hoped that the game-makers were soothed with one sacrifice and would have the decency to allow me to say goodbye. I couldn't win anymore so there was no use in eliminating Cato, the one who would have won hands-down had it not been for their bias favoring. It was time to put an end to the game. It was time for my finale, the unexpected one that would make their useless. With that thought in mind, I dropped the burning flame on the shrubs, lighting them on fire.

I saw the black smoke rise above the tree line, swirling in the warm air of the morning. I didn't know at the time that with that move I had changed the entire course of events. I had taken control and I had secured the Capitol's demise through paths that were too cloaked at the moment for me to understand. The fire that rendered the leaves into ashes was only the beginning of the flame that would burn for years to come.

I did not know. I thought I was just asking for one last wish. I didn't know that my wish had been to gain control over my life, to fight back when they least expected it, to cripple them like they had injured me, to handicap them, torture them, annihilate the smirks of their faces and their legacies from the face of the earth.

I did not know that I had become the key piece in the game, _the king_.


	16. Babylon The Great's Vanagloria Part III

**Chapter 16 – Babylon The Great's Vanagloria**

**Part III/V**

Marvel's POV

The wind blew the long, curly bangs on my eyes, caressing my forehead with their soft locks. It made me itch but my hands were too heavy for me to use so I let them settle on top of my face, occasionally attempting to blow them away when my lungs didn't ache in discomfort. The birds continued chirping, the noises of the forest surrounding me. The sun bathed my body, drying up the blood into crispy, dark marks. Sometimes I was cold and sometimes too hot, I couldn't control my body temperature so I attempted to glare at the brilliant giant on the sky in order to intimidate him into helping me. The brightness made my eyes sting. Maybe it was something else…

I decided I would close my weak point. I wouldn't allow myself to lose consciousness, no, there was much to be done. I wasn't ready to drift like a ghost away from the chaos. I would simply take a moment, lying down on the soft grass with the sun warming my skin, and close my eyes because the pain was cursing through my body and I felt dizzy with nausea. It was as if I could feel every nerve breaking inside my skin, every tissue dissolving in the acidic stomach lining. Blood was drenching my shirt and the stench was making me gag uncontrollably. I had tried to puke three more times since the last time I emptied my stomach. I could feel bile building up my throat unable to be released. I was miserable. Sometimes coughing fits racked me, blood dripping from my nose and spitting on the ground, creating red polka dots on the grass.

The entire experience of crawling in a fetal position and biting my lip to contain my vomit reminded me heavily of the time I spent at the hospital, staring at the white curtains and smelling the strong antiseptics.

It had been around four years ago after a particularly harsh training during one of the 24hour retreats that Seneca liked to oversee. I couldn't remember the last day and I didn't have any recollection of what the arena had even been or why I had given up. I only remembered small details like the unbearable heat and the lack of nutrition. I had no hopes of knowing how I had ended up at the hospital, relying solely on information given by the Capitol that bathed the truth with a million not-so-white lies. Gloss had told me, in a pained voice that ached with guilt, I had collapsed in the middle of the retreat, refusing to get up, sobbing dryly about going home. I had stared at him in shock when he had sat beside me in the hospital bed to enlighten me because I must have been in a state of ultimate delirium—I never mentioned home in front of the Capitol. I knew how they hated thinking that they didn't completely own me.

As punishment for my unnecessary weakness, they had beaten me up so severely that I remained in a comatose state for almost a week, immobile and showing no signs of recovery. A week of floating in a state of limbo, where at times I could hear my own thoughts like the narration of a bed-time story. I could make out the insistent beeping of the monitors surrounding me, holding me down and keeping me from rising up to heaven. I could hear Gloss pleading for me to wake up next to my bed and I could feel his hands on my hair, his lips on my forehead. Those were the only times I made the tedious effort that was smiling though I knew I never succeeded because he would always leave depressed, the tone of his voice making me wish I could jump up and make him proud again. I had failed him.

I could make out Seneca's concerned voice, ordering the doctors angrily to help me, to get to me recover. He had been worried shitless then; he had been so terrified of losing me that I could hear him pacing around when he spent nights in the hospital room. I used to think he cared—I had wanted him to care—because he took the role as my only caretaker when he yanked me away from the arms of my screaming mother.

I thought all the presents he gave me, the smiles and the encouragements, all the hugs in the hallways and the way he picked me up into his strong arms, all the times he took me to see the magnificent Capitol, chuckling in the positive when others automatically assumed I was his child—I thought all of that mattered!

I wanted to be his child because if that had been true he would have never let Snow change my life after my twelve birthday when he had gotten me a huge cake, shaped as an arena, miniature toys of that year's tributes sitting on the side. I had giggled, pulling out the toys and licking the whipped cream off of them but Seneca had known our time together was over because he had not wished me goodnight that evening and he had told me for the first and last time that he loved me.

I would never see him again the same way. I would never see him again from that birthday on as anything but the game-maker that would eventually design my death. When he worried that night in the hospital, collapsing asleep, head on my bed, I realized it was only because he had picked me and he needed me to compete for Snow, for the Capitol. I was an object to him, a bet. I was like a racing horse or a pit-bull.

I think I had held myself down that time. I knew I could have recovered much faster but I needed more time to heal mentally. I needed those moments of repose where I wasn't being pushed to my limits every step of the way. I wanted the blank, white canvas, the silence and the nothingness.

I knew though I had to go back eventually so I started to make my presence known. I remembered, through fuzzy, mental pictures, that Gloss had cried the day I had opened my green eyes to stare at his gray ones. He had not sobbed out-loud but a tear had escaped him, running down his cheek, and he had hugged me tightly against his chest but I had been too drugged to say anything back. He had not stopped touching me that night, holding my numb form until the nurses pulled him away.

Only when I came back to the bitter reality did I notice just in how much pain I was in. I had broken three ribs, my left leg and both my arms—_they_ had broken them and they felt _guilty_. Putting me on the training grounds again was impossible and the weeks dragged on with Snow pushing Seneca to make a miracle happen. To compensate for my long recovery time and their tainted consciences, they had drugged me so heavily on morphine that after two weeks of constant injections, I had developed an addiction to the feeling of not feeling. I went through severe withdrawals, crying in the middle of the night, waking up from choking on my own vomit. I would be in constant pain; I couldn't be moved from the hospital bed long enough to pee on my own. I refused to speak, my mouth always dry and bitter.

Gloss and Seneca walked in one day to note that my eyes never looked up at my blond angel in that bubble of joy. Then they had panicked. They tried to take the needles away from me, throwing the entire supply out of the window in front of my pained eyes. Seneca threatened the nurses against providing me with any drugs before he realized at that stage I would not make it out alive because I kept hurting myself in the delusional state that the constant pain put me through. They had given it back then, given up completely. They would provide it, illegally, because they didn't want me to complain. That tragedy had not happened to them before and they had been scarred. Gloss had fought to get me into a rehab program. He had argued with them, wrestled them to the end, advocated for me. He had convinced them it wasn't over—I could still be their star. He had been there, clutching my hand when I went through the training, conditioning my body to go back to normal.

Months passed and I was still handicapped so they sent me home, both men that I thought were my family, hugging me good-bye at the train station with fallen faces and somber eyes. Their eyes had opened and after years of not having seen my District, I returned to the home of luxury and to my deranged parents who had nothing to say to me. I cried on the train, watching their forms swept away by the speed, despite the level of morphine in my system that prevented me from feeling sadness.

It had been bittersweet to live home because while I no longer had to train extensively every waking hour, I was left with _nothing_. I had no purpose, roaming around a house full of zombies who never took care of me. I drowned in neglect and my tendencies towards narcotics peaked again. I started smoking like I had seen both Gloss and Seneca do, inhaling on the cancer-sticks whenever they had the chance, packets a day that they twirled in their hands. I started experimenting in dark allies with boys older than me who thought they could push me around only to end up severely injured, staring at my blank eyes. I started dealing, getting money from drugs in order to use it to get more drugs. The vicious cycle never ended as I found my ins and outs, befriending the peacekeepers, watching them gamble money away, uncaring about their jobs.

Gloss would come to visit as much as his work allowed but not often enough for my needs. I cried myself to sleep the nights I was too drugged to even get into bed, pleading for Gloss to help me up from the cold floor, knowing he was too far away. Every time he showed up, I hugged him in desperation, not asking when he had to leave. He was needed back at the Capitol, arranging for the fact that they had lost me. He was in charge of replacements.

He didn't know how bad the situation was until we had sat in a café, talking about my future plans during one of his rare visits. He had lit up a cigarette, placing it between his lips, and before I could control myself I had asked for one, earning a shocked glare as I cursed under my breath, lowering my eyes. I had told him everything then, my eyes red and puffy, my hands shaking with the cigarette that he had eventually given up. He had let me sleep in his arms that night, cuddled in the expensive sheets of the hotel, clutching his shirt. The next morning when he packed to leave, he had promised that my life would change. He would come back with different news. He had left again, kissing me tenderly on the forehead and whispering one last piece of advice: 'try the academy'.

Back in the present situation, my limbs giving up on my body and the pain paralyzing any hope of getting up, I opened my bleary eyes momentarily to look at the little piece of sky, surrounded by the high tops of the green trees. I hoped that Gloss was listening to me. I hoped he had not abandoned me yet. I knew in my heart, after re-living everything he had done for me, that he would never forsake me until I didn't need him anymore.

"Gloss, I am thinking… I need a… morphine shot. Please, indulge me… one last time," I murmured, my voice weak and my expression defeated. I knew he would be disappointed because I had moved away from drugs and I had promised him I would never touch the gateway that had gotten me through countless of treatments again. It was the end though and I needed to resist the pain until he came to me, until I offered him one last kiss. I needed to stay strong and I couldn't do it on my own. I needed Gloss. I needed my trainer, my mentor, my guardian more than ever in my life and he understood because he always did.

I smiled faintly when the parachute dropped from the sky almost immediately. I assumed that even if Gloss would not intimidate the sponsors into giving me one, the Capitol would ensure it because they still had nightmares from my past experiences where I was denied it, screaming wildly and banging at the doors.

I opened the capsule to retrieve the glassy needle, filled with white, cloudy liquid. I placed in front of my face, watching the bubbles merge with the reflection of my blood-shot eyes. I could see my past in the substance and as it blurred so I stared at the sky behind it, I could see my future. I was reluctant to stare at the note for the first time since I entered the arena, cherishing those little pieces of him. The handwriting was perfect, gracefully slanted in the way that made my smile and roll my eyes. He had put effort into making the one I was holding a piece of art. Every droplet of ink had been controlled masterfully so when I reached the stain at the end, changing the ink and making it bleed into the white cardboard, my throat tightened. I ran my finger over the droplet of a single tear, holding my breath to force my eyes across the lines and make my mind understand it in the middle of the chaos.

"_Death is nothing to us, since when we are, death has not come, and when death has come, we are not. I have never been prouder. No tears until the very end, my ace."_

The thought that I would never see Gloss again hit me hard and I wanted to cry because my eyes were stinging and that knot had formed in my throat but as I looked at his neat handwriting I held myself together, wanting to be strong for him. He said until the very end and the end wasn't in sight. I had work to finish after all how could the end be next door when there were seven of us still running around.

Instead of laying on the floor in resignation, I folded the note, giving it one meaningful kiss, and placed it into my pocket. I looked at the sky with a smile so he had proof that I wasn't breaking yet and I felt myself speak as I readied the syringe on my thin skin and my swollen veins. It would give me the last push.

"That was a good one, Gloss. I have one too. Wanna hear it? You showed it to me a while ago…" A bloody cough, followed by a cleared throat.

"_If wild my breast and sore my pride, I bask in dreams of suicide.  
__If cool my heart and high my head, I think how lucky are the dead."_

I squeezed my fist tightly against the pain, sinking the needle into the breaking skin, and I hissed in pain as I felt the medicine enter my body in a rush, sear my nerves into numbness. The sting that the needle gave when it pulled out reminded me of when I used to give shots to Cato and it made me miss him.

I laid back into my original position, waiting for the full effects to come into place. The feeling of lightness was familiar though it had been years since the last fix I had taken. I felt my pain disappear behind the layer of thick haze that settled in my body. I watched in fascination as I could move my limbs without that blinding pain in my mid-area. I knew it was still there; my condition had not ameliorated but my mind was ignoring it, the morphine blocking the neural pathways. The unresponsiveness spread and as I lay there, feeling the sun on my face, making my cheeks burn red, I started to drift in and out of sleep. In order to avoid it, I kept my thoughts running. I kept the flashbacks coming.

I thought about the first time I had met Glimmer with her sun-kissed skin and sun-colored locks. I thought about her blue eyes meeting mine before the skin creased beside them in a smile. She approached me that day and she became the glimmer of light in my dark life. She had taken me to school and to the Career-training program when I had asked her about it, following Gloss' suggestion. She had taken me out of the musky house and she had gotten me back to civilization. I had felt so grateful for her interference and she became me my only true friend.

I felt my heart flutter in the first excitement I had felt since the Capitol when I entered the Academy, looking at the uniformed youths, jogging in warm-up. I knew I hated fighting but it was the only thing I knew how to do. It was the only thing I was good at and knew how to enjoy. Gloss had been right in thinking I would feel at home.

The Career trainers were impressed at my skill when they welcomed me for try-outs, staring at my fit body and dexterous limbs. When I did well, I got their complete attention, their eyes shone in pure admiration, their lips smiled in pride. Being good at being bad, I could get what I was missing at home.

I continued attending every day, getting better at being a Career and growing closer to Glimmer who took me to places and held my hand on the street. I had not known what a relationship should feel like at the time but I knew that Glimmer was the only one who I felt comfortable with, who I could be myself with. She had to be the one, whatever that meant for somebody like me. A life I assumed, children, work, the stuff that grown-ups did—the stuff that didn't give me the same edge that watching my spear fly through the air did.

I asked her out one night when we lay on the floor of the empty academy, giggling and cuddling like she enjoyed doing. I blurted it with red-cheeks and she tackled me to the ground, repeatedly screaming 'yes' as she showered my tomato cheeks with kisses. We dated for two long years, where we saw each other every single day, tried to alternate our schedules so it never got repetitive. We made out sloppily, had amateur sex in the showers. We were basically attached at the hip.

The years passed and though her and I got attached, we both realized that nothing would ever happen between us. I grew distant and she grew somber. She could understand what was going through my mind as I looked outside the window, her form naked on my bed. It wasn't what I was looking for though I didn't know what that was in the first place. I kept telling myself that when I found it, that when I saw it, I would know but with every passing day I lost hope, the relationship disintegrated.

The Capitol found me again because Gloss had come up to me one day with a solution like he promised he would. I had taken Glimmer with me, no longer with her but still attached to her presence, and the two blondes met for the first time. As we ate, looking at the luxurious restaurant, we talked about the possibility of volunteering in the Games that would happen on my eighteenth birthday that was coming up in a few months. Glimmer did not react to the suggestion, sipping on her drink delicately. She seemed to be used to the idea of volunteering. When Gloss had looked at me with his anxious gray eyes, she had piped in through a small voice that I would win if I did.

I was reluctant, shaking my head against it much to both their dismay. I didn't know if I wanted my path to stray away from the life I had built in my hometown and back inside the walls of the Capitol. He had understood, nodding at me with pursed lips and not pushing it. He had mentioned, though, mid chewing, wine in his hand, that if I won, my life would be forever changed. I could work with him, be a mentor, dedicate my life to helping others by using the skills that I loved so much to hone. That idea had attracted me more than I thought it would, it being living in the Capitol. Gloss told me how Seneca was even speaking to Snow about a possible position as an actual game-maker, something nobody from any District had ever had. They knew they had me trapped in their net though I swallowed the curiosity that night, murmuring goodnight to Gloss.

As time passed since our controversial meeting, life became repetitive and boring. I went to train but I didn't feel like doing it anymore because I had decided I wouldn't fight in the arena so what was the point of throwing spears at targets. I went out with Glimmer but she became obsessed with the idea of seeing the shining city of control. I walked around, staring at families going through the same, dismal routine. I couldn't imagine my life that boring, that insignificant. I couldn't find a purpose. I didn't have education so I couldn't get a job and even if I could, I wouldn't get the job I wanted, the job Seneca was dangling in front of my eyes. I fought day in and day out. I formed acquaintances all of which would volunteer, rambling about winning and more winning. I started to slowly change my mind as the ads for the beginning of the Games popped up, stuck to walls in bright, Capitol colors.

Gloss came to find me with the newly made tattoo on my back, representing my district number right where it would be on the training shirt. I had made a decision then yet I couldn't get myself to volunteer because my body rejected the idea of pain. I knew that if I left it to my own free will, my hand would simply not shoot up at the right time. There was no way I would be able to force my mind back into that state of constant abuse that it suffered so many memories in.

As Gloss watched us in amusement, listening to our excited voices, Glimmer and I came up with a plan, something that could give me the power I needed. That year I bought hundreds of tesserae, giggling every time they took my blood and I signed my name into another parchment. I distributed them among the struggling families in District 1, which were few but existent, presenting the food to them with a beaming smile that had them crying tears of joy, calling me their guardian angel, the kids clinging to my pants happily and waving to me on the street.

I knew the act was meant to be for one person and their family members but Gloss had spoken to the Capitol, to Seneca who would be my eyes in the arena. We had all figured out it was a win-win situation. The Capitol would look better in the eyes of the District whom they needed support from. They would also guarantee the result that they had been fighting for ever since I threw my first spear and watched it land on the floor with a disappointing bang. I would participate in their Games. After their training and mine added on the side, I would come back victorious and offer myself to them again as the ultimate tool, the game-maker. The act of charity would also make me the hero of my District, the crowd favorite, assure the sponsors were actively manipulated into the big picture. It was flawless, I thought.

The day of the reaping it had come to almost no one's surprise when my name was pulled out of the glass ball, the premonition coming true, causing a wave of twisted relief to curse through me at the realization that I didn't have to volunteer. I had shrugged passively, dazzling the audience with a smile, and waved because a part of me felt satisfied. I had controlled the situation. I had chosen my own fate, created my own path. Glimmer had volunteered as planned, against my many pleas, late at night, lying innocently beside her under the stars. I didn't want to have to kill her but she had said that our fates had already intertwined. We would face the ultimate challenge together. She had told me about her need for adventure, her ultimate dream being standing in the middle of the dazzling city once in her life. She had said that would be enough to make her happy. She planned to kill herself when we were the last two standing. In her mind, I had already won.

I could have loved Glim if I had had the potential and capability at the time but I didn't. That valuable ability only came later when I saw the dazzling boy from District 2 step up the podium with a winning smirk that made me think my victory was not as certain as before.

I knew that thinking about my past was morose in a situation like mine but it somehow created a sense of peace within me. Because when I thought back of the events that had shaped my life, I didn't cringe anymore; I didn't blink at the injustice or cry at the possibilities. I didn't regret the decision to enter the arena and I didn't pity myself for never becoming more after I had left it.

I could smile about it and I had always wanted to die smiling. All the times when I had thought it was the end, crying in pain and bleeding in agony, I had repeated in my head that if I did die, I would smile till the very end, the same wide, excited smile that got Seneca to chose me from a crowd of equally ignorant little boys, dressed in colorful shirts and holding each other's hands. The same magnetic smile that had decided the path my life would take when his blue eyes analyzed it. He had told me it had been that addicting happiness and the bouncy, golden curls. He had said I reminded him of an angel and that angels never died, they only suffered. I wondered if that was still true now.

I was brought back from my thoughts by the sound of the cannon that announced the young girl's death. The loud, invading cannon that reminded me of my initial _**indifference**_ to her pleading and the crippling hesitation that led to my miscalculation. I wondered if she had been somebody's angel too. She sure looked like one.

At the same time that the cannon announced it was time for me to open my eyes, I heard Clove's screech, piercing through the forest-line, closer than I predicted.

"Marvel! No, No. Oh, please, wake up, Marv!" She screamed in panic, her voice getting closer before she dropped on my side, shaking me roughly by the shoulders. I had flinched awake, groaning at my injuries, my head spinning from the sudden light, my eyes squinting to make out her hazel eyes and her dark hair. She squealed in joy at my reply, scolding me about giving her a heart attack, while caressing the annoying bangs off my eyes. Her relief made me forget that I had an arrow piercing my abdomen for a second, before her eyes found it, falling in sadness.

"Jesus, Clove. You found me," I exclaimed happily, looking around expecting to see Cato come to my side, pick me up from the itching grass, only to be disappointed at his absence. The trees were quiet, the ground unrelenting. Where was he? Had something happened? The cannon…

"I rushed over as soon as I heard the cannon. He is still back at the Cornucopia. He doesn't know," She murmured regretfully and I was close to screaming in frustration because I was dying and she had not told him. My mind reminded me that I had warned her against his entering the forest so I couldn't blame her smart choice. Some part of me still wished I could say good-bye. He would most likely sleep through my cannon and wake up to find that he would never see me again. I felt as if I had betrayed him. Clove was starting to realize her mistake and she apologized, offering to help me and bring me back to camp. It became clear to me that she was not aware of my condition. My heart ached at having to tell her. I gulped as her eyes screamed at me not to speak.

"Clove, I'm not going to make it. I—It's…not going to happen, sister," I whispered to her sadly, using the nickname she had utilized to ease the betrayal that consumed her eyes. They watered in pain and I wished I could change the situation only for her. I smiled through my bloody lips, touching her shaking hand and bringing it on top of my bloody stomach so her fingers dipped in my pain. Her eyes widened like saucers and she looked at me in shock, shaking her head in denial, the glassy look about to shatter.

"No. No, Marvel. Why are you saying this? You're going to—You have to. Why? We'll just head back now," she started to ramble continuously, her panicked breath hitching, dividing the sentences in awkward places, her eyes already filling with unshed tears. She got up on her feet rapidly, looking at the blood and trying to urge me up with her, pulling on my sleeve like a little child who needed attention.

"Please, Marv. Get up, please, please," she kept whispering, her pleas breaking my resistance, tears running down her cheeks. I was trying to smile through her hurt, dragging myself up painfully for her sake because she needed me. I couldn't see her get hurt. I had let Glimmer down. I had let Cato down but she was one person I could save, I could make happy for as long as God allowed me to. She smiled, wiping her tears carelessly on her jacket sleeve as she saw me stand clumsily, the morphine having made my legs wobbly.

"Clove, I can't," I explained once I was up, panting heavily, and leaning on a nearby tree, looking at her through a wet smile as she approached me swiftly. I told her that there was not way I was going to make it back to camp. I wanted to make her happy but I couldn't give her false hope. I had to stay put to stop my body from deteriorating. I had to stay alive for a little longer just in case…

"No, you can. You don't know. I'll help you. Here, lean on me. Try Marvel, please try," she kept protesting, wrapping her frail arms around my torso and struggling to support my weight as I indulged her again reluctantly, attempting a few steps across the clearing. I remembered her trying to hold Cato as he almost died on us. How fast the tables had turned. I didn't know how to break it to her without hurting her with it. I didn't want to crush her hopes. I wanted her to keep fighting.

"You have to for Cato. He needs to see you. He _needs_ you, brother. You're his life, his everything. He'll break…" she muttered in a wet voice, gulping her sobs pathetically, and I managed to make a few more steps forward, my feet stepping on the uneven ground, because hearing his name gave me strength. I grit my teeth through he pain and fought through the haze because I had to keep fighting for him. He couldn't break. They wouldn't break him!

We had only made it to the edge of the clearing before suddenly she flinched by my side like a deer in headlights, almost dropping me to the floor, barely managing to catch me at the last second and lower my body down gently on the grass by the dense shrubbery. I was confused at the sudden change, noticing the way her body became tense, her lips pursed. I looked at her in questioning, trying to assess what had happened. Had she had a change of mind?

Her eyes were scanning the forest and by the way her breath had sped up, I knew we were in danger. Her narrowed orbs were darting in the darkness, her fingers flexed masterfully towards her belt. She pulled her knives out, clutching them to her sweaty palms and made to step away from me to enter the mysterious forest. My breath caught about to speak before footsteps made the words die in my throat. We both heard the shuffling and I bit my lip to restrain my breathing. I wanted it to be dead silent so maybe we would slip by unnoticed. I stared at where the smoke used to be, noticing it was long gone. If we hid—we had to hide.

"Stay here, Marvel," Clove whispered in warning, her voice serious, her tone lethal, stepping away from me in hushed footsteps. I struggled pathetically to grasp the end of her jacket, noticing she was wearing my old, black one, my name on the label hanging out, holding her in place and shaking my head in protest. She couldn't leave me. The flimsy, shiny material wouldn't be enough to protect her.

"No, Clove. Don't go. It's dangerous," I rasped back, worry overflowing my tone in wavering as my fingers sought to get more of the fabric between them. I didn't want her to go because my gut had dropped and I knew that something bad was about to happen. I could hear Seneca muttering, 'Prepare a cannon'. I assumed the person was brown-haired Katniss, trying to chase me down, following my blood trail, since the District 11 girl had died. She was looking for me and Clove could still save herself. She didn't know my little sister was there yet.

"Clove, go back to the Cornucopia. Now. Run. Take care of Cato," I stated coldly, trying to get her to escape to her safety. My voice broke at his name and she noticed, staring at me in pity. I was already going to die. Clove couldn't sacrifice herself for me. Cato needed someone and she would be his shield from now on. She had been my shield when he had fallen ill. She had to leave, sprint back to warn him of the danger being closer than ever.

I glared at her to show her I was serious but she only smiled back at me, a sad, tearful smile that made my face break desperately. With all her might, she yanked the sleeve away from me and a ripping sound was heard, emanating from her jacket. It was like the time she stopped me from going to Glimmer when I discovered my best friend had died. She had ripped my jacket then, begging me to not join the blonde. She was doing the same thing at the meadow, standing between me and my doom, telling me that she would prevent our reunion for as long as she could.

"I'm sorry, Marvel. But I won't be able to live with myself if I don't go out there now and fight for us, like you guys fought for me all this time. He needs you more than he needs me," She whispered sincerely and I was shaking my head rapidly, trying to crawl forward, failing miserably. She was stepping away from me and my head was screaming in anger at the inactivity of my body because I couldn't reach her and I had to stop her.

"No, Clove. I'll come with. Stop, Clove, don't. Please, don't do this to me," I kept repeating pathetically, my fingers digging on the ground as I pulled myself forward, inching on the floor, my blood leaving a trail on the ground. She approached me again, making me think she had changed her mind. She placed her petite hands on my shoulders, stopping me from further injuring myself, and crouching in front of me, her nose inches away from mine.

"Stay put, Marvel. Stay hidden no matter what comes out of my mouth. You deserve to live so make sure you fight hard. Can you do that for me? For both of us? Whatever happens, do not let them take you away. Promise me, until the very end…" She instructed sternly, her eyes tearing up, her nose sniffing, causing mine to become wet. Why was every one saying that to me? Couldn't they tell how much it choked me up? That wasn't the end! That couldn't be!

She cupped my face in her hands and reached to plant a long, meaningful kiss on my sweaty forehead, like Gloss had done that day before I stepped into the train. I was fighting back the wave of tears wanting to escape my eyes because I had promised Gloss I wouldn't let them fall. She gave me one last meaningful look before pushing me down on the ground so I was laying next to the shrubbery, at the edge of the meadow, hidden from the world, devastated beyond words.

When she stood up, I wanted to say something to stop her but I knew I couldn't. I knew the least I could do was honor her request and not let her sacrifice go to waste. I lay on my side with my fingers crossed and my lip in between my teeth, praying that she would come back to me, clutching the grass with my other hand until it ripped from the roots.

I hated how alone I felt when she disappeared. It felt as if for the first time in my life, I had found the friends I had always been looking for and they were being ripped away from me. The happiness had been too short-lived.

I closed my eyes and strained my ears, trying to analyze the situation. I heard the start of the struggle, the punches and the grunts. I tensed at Clove's scream of pain and I shot up at the other's exclamations against the hurt that shot up my body, piercing through the morphine barrier to make my brain flinch.

It wasn't the girl on fire. It wasn't Katniss, seeking revenge for my unintentional mistake. It was Thresh and if I didn't start moving, he would kill Clove.


	17. Babylon The Great's Vanagloria Part IV

**Chapter 17 – Babylon The Great's Vanagloria**

**Part IV/V**

Marvel's POV

I started to crawl back, pathetically dragging myself to the clearing, knowing fully well I was too slow. I could hear the struggle behind me as Clove fought against the giant. I had to go help her though she had made me promise I stayed put. I couldn't just sit aside and watch her die. I was the reason she was in trouble. I had called her there and she was paying for my mistake. I had acted independently from the alliance, causing them all to be endangered. With that guilty thought, I managed to get my body to stand upright despite the lack of control over my useless limbs. Leaning heavily on the trees that shielded me from Thresh's sadistic, beaded eyes, following the uneven ground with my eyes, as my feet dragged through the grass ruining it, I stumbled my way towards the clearing where I had dropped my weapon, thinking naively I had given up the fight. The fight never ended until I was dead.

Looking around I saw that everything was gone but the cut trap, hanging as a reminder from the tree it was attached to. The little girl had been taken away and my attacker was nowhere to be found, most likely ruminating over the loss of her alliance. I wondered if she had stuck around or if she thought I was already dead, heading for high ground to protect herself from Thresh who was obviously there for blood. If I were her, I would have hid and waited until we destroyed each other. She was smart, sneaky like the redhead who came up in my dreams. I guess her prophecy had been wrong. Cato did not kill me.

I spotted my bloody spear at the edge of the clearing and smiled, the sight of my weapon already making me feel safer. I was lucky to find it; it was meant to be. All I needed to do was hold the pain inside my thresh-hold for a little longer so I could save Clove. I had to continue being strong until he was gone, then I could let go.

I dropped on the floor, my knees sinking in the grass, and the minute my hands made contact with my spear, I felt a renewal of energy surge through me like a spark of hope. I felt my warrior instincts returning, pushing the resignation aside. I grit my teeth in preparation, pushing myself up with my hands, feeling the arrow drive deeper into my stomach, releasing a squishing sound, more blood staining my abdomen.

I hissed in pain, looking up to see if there was any way of support only to come face to face with the fire-girl, her eyes angry and her arrow pointed straight at my forehead, her bow taut and ready to drive the weapon into my skull past my curly bangs and sweaty brow. My heart faltered to a stop, my lungs collapsing. I whimpered out-loud, squinting my eyes in fear, trying to lower myself further. The pain from the movement jumpstarted my organs back to life and the words tumbled out of my mouth irrationally, my tone weak.

"Please don't! I am already dying. Just let me—" I practically begged, placing the spear on the ground quickly and raising my hands in a sign of peace. It was hard to keep the confrontational eye contact because my eyes just wanted to brace themselves for the impact, my lips shaking against my will. The morphine wouldn't be able to hold back that move.

I didn't want to die yet. I had made a mistake coming back, the meadow attracting me to my obvious doom. I couldn't let myself be killed without seeing Cato. I needed to make her understand that I wasn't a risk. I needed to make her see that I stopped! I spared her because of her sister, who needed her to survive. She had to return the favor because I had someone counting on my as well, needing me to pick him up. In the background I could hear Clove screaming and moaning in pain. My heart was breaking for her. I was stuck on my knees, pathetic and weak, while she fought for me like a true Career.

"Move one inch and you're dead," She threatened unnecessarily in her emotionless voice, tightening the bow a little more, and I felt my body shudder before it froze still, my eyes still looking at her flaming ones in pleading.

Her face showed nothing but fury and I could see that her eyes were swollen red with tears. She had been mourning the young girl's death, the one that I had killed. There was no reason she would let me live. She would have her revenge by shedding my blood and I couldn't get my mouth to open long enough to tell her that it had been an accident. I had not aimed for the little girl; I had aimed for the main competitor. It had been my mistake. There was no way to explain my behavior, excuse it without remembering the sole reason behind the game: survival. I had to do it.

"I just want to—" I started again before she rudely interrupted me, trying to get her to understand that she had secured my death already. I had resigned to my fate; no one could change that now. There was no way that I was going to survive. I was injured. All I wanted to do was save Clove. She could still kill me because I was trapped; I couldn't run away.

It was a pointless thought because even if I did save Clove, the fire-girl would kill us all in the end. It was hopeless and it was making me want to give up, scream at her to let go already, spear through my aching brain. Clove kept screaming in the background and my eyes had started to water because every supplicate that escaped her mouth pierced me in the heart. I wanted the pain to stop, my hands clutching at the ground in a move she interpreted as dangerous because she immediately kicked my palms harshly, forcing me to retreat them, bloody and bruised, to my aching chest with a whimper.

"Move, I dare you," she grunted plainly, ignoring my pain and effectively shutting me up. I was frustrated at my lack of control. All my life others had been trying to stop me from doing what I wanted to do, what I felt was right. She was just like them, emotionless, stoic with those same fucking blue eyes as Seneca Crane. No wonder they liked her, she was definitely well catered for the kind of survival game they liked to see.

I heard the struggle intensify and I heard Clove scream for help, knowing that I couldn't do anything about it. She was sobbing and her voice had changed. She was most likely injured beyond belief and by the way her speech had slurred, I knew she had received a severe head injury. Both of our heads turned towards where the noises were coming and she continued staring that way, not batting an eyelash at the horrific sounds. I had to drive her attention away from the forest because the cold look in her eyes was making me want to kill her. She was the monster, not us.

"Don't you have a heart?" I screamed, my voice breaking, trying to yell above Clove's agonizing screeches and Thresh's cruel comments. I wanted to kill him out of my own will. He wasn't humane and he didn't deserve any pity. I hated him so much at the moment and I hated her for allowing him to continue, for standing and watching the events unfold right next to us. In the back of my mind I remembered that we had done the exact same crime to the tributes at the bloodbath. It stung to be in the same position. I was getting desperate, trying to appeal to any of her sides but was not having any luck finding the right one. She didn't have an emotional weak point.

"The pot calling the kettle black," she muttered, smirking faintly at me while I glared heatedly back, wanting nothing but to shut her up permanently. She thought she had it all figured out. We were the villains, the ones that everyone wanted dead, the bad guys. She was supposed to kill us being the underdog, the hero of her District, the one who volunteered for noble reasons. She was the better version of me with the boobs as a bonus, as Seneca had so eloquently put it, earning a disgusted glare from Gloss.

"You know nothing about me," I snapped back, clenching my fists on the ground and biting the inside of my mouth in anger to stop myself from saying more than was necessary, to calm myself before I said my last words. She was taken aback at my response, faltering in her cruel front, and I could see it in her eyes that she was intimidated by my ruthless glare for a second before putting up her strong persona. I deduced to myself that everyone who played the game well had a well-built front, versed in emotional control. The fact that I could still frighten her in my degenerate state rekindled a fire in my will. I wanted to fight back to the end, until the last moment. She had no right to judge me.

"I know you want to live long enough to see your boyfriend one last time," she stated smoothly, offering me another sly look, and my mouth fell open at how she had put together our bond so fast. She couldn't have figured it out the night we trapped her; I had not figured it out then. Had she seen us cuddling when she… she set off the wasps. She killed Glimmer! We had never seen her again unless she came back to camp, unless she was there during one of the last days, unless…

"How—_you_ set the off the explosion!" I blurted before I could stop my mouth and by the victorious look on her face, I knew I was right. She was the reason for all our troubles. She destroyed our supplies. She had been the one brave enough to fool us all. I doubted she even cared much about that District 11 girl. She had essentially sacrificed her like a lamb because she knew that we would go after the smoke. She had murdered the little girl by leaving her alone, not I. I was a pawn, a means to an end. It was probably her guilt that was directing her actions at the moment, transforming her into one of them, the lost ones with no conscience and specific goal in mind.

"I thought it about time we played this game fairly," She stated with an emotionless voice, going straight for the obvious weak spot, my connections to the Capitol. After all, that reputation not only made me hated by basically everyone in the other Districts but also made me a target in the arena.

She thought that she could achieve some form of revenge through killing me and I found it miserably sad to be stuck in between two fronts, one that I disliked and one that disliked me. I didn't have a sense of belonging yet and I didn't think I would ever. Nobody could understand that instinct of survival: the idea behind doing anything possible to keep your head above water. That for her meant fighting hard for her family; for me it meant staying put while the Capitol pampered me. I didn't choose my life just like she didn't choose hers but yet she was thought a martyr and I was lumped up with the rest of the bad guys without distinction. I couldn't tell who was the victim anymore.

"You are feeding off this moment, having me begging on my knees in front of you. You're as disgusting as they are," I murmured under my breath, shaking my head and closing my eyes to prepare for the blow that was sure to come. Death, I had come to terms with. There was nothing awaiting me after the initial pain, no guilt, no regret, no sadness. Just pure, silent darkness. Gloss was right. I tried to picture Cato's smile in my head, the one he reserved solely for me, so I knew my last thought would be of him. I bit my lip, trying to stay strong because if that was the end, I wanted to go down a warrior.

She shuffled uncertainly and I felt her fidget with her weapon, the one she had taught me how to use. Why was she hesitating? With me out of the way, she could target Thresh and cut the numbers by three more. That left three: her, lover-boy and my blond.

I wondered if Cato was coming and if he was going to be in danger. My stomach churned at the thought that he could be in Clove's place. Petite Clove who had been my only friend since Glimmer died, who had sat by my side and held my hand when I told stories of my family, who had told me to have faith when I felt like crying at Cato's state, who had come running to save me, already broken, and in turn broke herself.

I was praying that by some miracle she would come out alive, that maybe Cato would come and save her. I couldn't leave him alone to face the District 12 tributes. If Clove survived, they could race to the finish together. I had wished for that to happen ever since I met him but I had acknowledged that Seneca would fight it until the end.

The blow never came.

"I'm feeding off the fact that I will be the one to take away the Capitol's last shred of joy in this game," she voiced and I snorted, opening my eyes again to face her startled ones. She was not expecting my reaction and it was throwing her off guard because though she had not been brutally trained by the Capitol, she struggled with understanding emotions more than I did. That was why I couldn't blame her for never being able to understand my story. I had only made sense of it today.

"Hate to burst your bubble, sweetheart, but they wanted me dead, hence the arrow in my stomach," I snapped back in self-deprecating humor, shrugging my shoulders and offering her the most confused face I could muster. Some of the pain was starting to return to my limbs in searing fire and I reminded myself that the effects of the drug would soon wear off. If I didn't make a move soon, I would not be able to move at all. That was as good as dead.

"And you oblige to everything they want," She retorted immediately, wanting to hit a sore spot and accomplishing her goals. She was attempting to make me mad and I thought that was because she felt uncomfortable with my easygoing demeanor to death. She didn't understand that after living thought my life, death seemed almost pleasant.

I had tried to be nice about it, to bite my tongue at her ignorance, but I would not be made a fool of by a young, idiotic girl from a barbarian District. How could she possibly know about the politics behind the first District's relationship with the Capitol? How could she possibly insult me as weak when she had not been through half of the tortures I had? She thought not having enough food was bad? How about not having enough water, enough sleep, enough air to breath, enough blood to keep your organs going, enough energy to stop them from beating you repeatedly?! How about that?

"Shut up, bitch!" I managed to force out through gritted teeth and my eyes squinted in anger, my fists curling, molding the dirt I was holding to the shape of my hand. She didn't seem fazed by my reaction because she understood she was in a position of power.

"Defensive aren't we?" She commented dryly and I noted that she had found her tongue, become more talkative. Because I had stepped back, not in the mood to antagonize her, she had thought she could control the situation. That type of thinking would be dangerous in her future if the Capitol would be in it. For the first time in my life, I was happy that was not my problem. I was ecstatic to be on the sidelines. I remained silent after her retort not wanting to give her the time of day. Instead, I looked around the clearing at the peaceful birds chirping and the wind blowing. That was the same clearing I had murdered that little girl and changed the course of the entire Games, altered fate.

"I could have killed you," I murmured thoughtfully but it wasn't in hatred. It was merely a statement, a fact, because had I been the killing machine without a conscience that I was created to be, I would have killed her. I would have killed both of them. I would not have an arrow penetrating my stomach and I would not have to hear Clove beg for forgiveness.

Unfortunately, my creation was flawed so there I was kneeling in front of my own demise, my own weakness. The fact that it was the District 12 girl did not matter because ultimately it had been I who killed my own chances. I fucked up and I felt bitter but only because I wanted a little more time with Cato. Nevertheless, I had been taught to be grateful for every piece of shining light I got in my dark life and he was the brightest I had ever seen, brighter than the artificial lights in the torture chambers, brighter than the fake sun in the arena, brighter than the fire her costume was consumed by at the parade where I knew she would be important in our future.

"But you didn't. I killed you," she reminded me and her tone too had shifted to a less attacking one because she felt my calm and she knew I wasn't about to spend the last moments of my life fighting; I had done that for the first eighteen years of it. When I looked into her eyes that time, they held passivity littered with traces of remorse. I felt sad for her, surprising my own heart at the compassion.

"I was done being their toy. You can take that place now; you can provide the entertainment," I enlightened her because I was done being afraid to openly phrase my fears. I could speak my mind and maybe be able to destroy some of their power. I felt like I had truly opened my eyes but I knew that she hadn't yet and in a way I pitied her. I wanted to help, thinking back to the never-ending cycle.

"Now you want to be somebody else's toy," she commented, understanding that I was implying she was still under their control. She was jabbing at me, thinking that my weakest spot would be my relationship to Cato. She didn't realize that my bond with him was what kept me going. It was the strongest bond I had ever formed and to me it was practically impenetrable by anyone on the outside because they simply couldn't understand what he was to me.

"You don't know what you're talking about," I muttered, shaking my head in rue at how she had to retort to such low blows to protect herself from my truthful analyzing. She was the one who was afraid to love, to get attached. She thought she had everyone fooled with that pretense relationship she had put up for the sponsors. She thought that gave her the right to preach to me about bonds, about love, about what was real and what was not. She might have tricked those idiots who knew nothing about real emotions and true relationships but she couldn't fool me because I had seen those fakes happen throughout my entire life. What she had wasn't a relationship—It was a business arrangement.

"You honestly think he is genuine? He hurt you, made you bleed on the floor in front of all your enemies," she questioned, rambling uncontrollably, her tone incredulous. She was partially teasing but partially curious at a feeling that she did not allow herself to have. I thought to myself at that moment that I could have been in her shoes. I could have been the strong fighter that only thought of himself and never stopped to care of others but that life would have sucked. I was done denying myself happiness, convincing my depressed mind that in doing so I was going to soon achieve some sort of supreme joy. The happily ever after never came. It was all about the tale leading to it.

"I don't have to explain shit to you," I grunted roughly because it was too long of a story and she was too much of an emotionless brick to ever understand it properly, do it justice. She recoiled emotionally, hiding behind her contempt, and seeing her isolate herself made me change my answer. "He makes mistakes. He regrets. He stumbles. He is _human_. He has saved my life, _given _me one."

I recalled a quick recap of my time since I met Cato, the first time I laid eyes on his form, the first words I spoke to him, the first argument we had, the first signs of flirtation. I saw the speedy progression of our relationship and a smile started creeping its way on my face as my eyes zoomed out of her blank ones.

"You'll end up dying alone," she hurried to state in order to make sure my attention had not left her. She wanted to keep intimidating me, pushing me to the ground, destroying my sense of dignity. She had started to get scared because my words were affecting her more than she felt safe against.

I thought about her sentence because at that stage I was worried that I wouldn't make it as well but I knew he would come through for me, like he had always done in the past. I knew he felt my pain and I knew he would be by my side to ease it soon enough.

"You're wrong," I stated back, not giving her the satisfaction of riling me up. The only anger I felt was towards Thresh. The noises of the struggle and the screams had now become non-existent. I had gotten habituated to the sound and my brain had worked to repress it from my consciousness.

"Just what you deserve for supporting the Capitol," she retorted, her tone bitter and her voice laced with venom. The last shred of patience in me snapped because she had kept pushing, like they always continued pushing. She was asking for it and at the moment I didn't care if I was giving her what she wanted as long as she stopped thinking she was some sort of Christ figure, sent to suffer for the world's sins. She would not preach to me about things that I had seen with my own eyes before she could understand what her eyes were used for in the first place.

"You think you're the only one that hates them, the only one whose life they've ruined? Well, sorry to break it to you, sweetie, but you do not even know the _meaning_ of hate! _I_ hate them. They have taken everything from me. You have a family! I don't! You have a chance…a fucking chance," I screamed my throat raw, frustrated, slamming my fist on the ground. She stepped back at my outburst, her weapon still aimed at my forehead but her eyes now vulnerable and caught off guard. Her bottom lip quivered along with her bow.

"Don't pretend to know what my life is like," She hurried to say the first thing that popped in her mind, trying to shield herself, put up a defense before I attacked every aspect of her identity. She was not used to talking much and she definitely wasn't used to verbal battles so she knew I had her in a corner if she were to keep playing my game.

"Now who's being hypocritical? Sounds like a pot-kettle situation to me," I muttered under my breath, rolling my annoyed eyes, because I didn't have time to teach her to get out of the kitchen if she couldn't handle the heat. I sighed in exasperation and placed my hand on my wound to check the damage. My attention shifted to the torn skin and I bit my lip to fight through the disgust. I needed to check the damage because the morphine had completely numbed my body and I couldn't feel how bad my condition was getting. Blood was steadily flowing out of the wound and by the look of raw skin I knew my gastric acid wasn't holding back. I bit my tongue against the pain and applied pressure to the wound in an attempt to halt the stream of red, sliding down my pants. It hurt even with the haze. It was probably unbearable without it.

She had been awfully quiet during my introspection and I heard her sigh, lowering her weapon. I didn't make a run for it because it was useless. I hadn't heard Clove make any noise in a while and even if I did try to escape, I was too injured to be agile enough to avoid her shot. She had gotten me the first time after all. So I looked up at her, wanting to know what her plans were. How long was she going to keep me there, kneeling in front of her, bracing myself against her insults?

"You love him," She murmured as if to herself before facing me and asking for an answer. I gave her credit for piecing together that information but I assumed she knew what that emotion looked like from her relationship with her sister. She had volunteered for her sister's sake after all. The one whose sake I got an arrow to the stomach for. The one who probably would never remember me.

Instead of giving her an answer, I made a statement of my own. She had not asked me a question so I wouldn't ask one back. We would both pretend we could understand each other for these seconds that we were bound together. We would both think that we were still in the training grounds, talking about a common interest, ignorant to the fact that we hated each other's guts and that one of us would die, maybe both.

"You don't," I spoke in return, knowing she was smart enough to understand I wasn't talking about Cato anymore but about her lover-boy, the fucker who had betrayed us and then disappeared to god-knows-where. I wondered if she knew where he was, if she knew he was injured. I wondered if she cared in the first place about his existence. From her answer, I deduced she didn't, she wouldn't ever.

"I can't," she mumbled and I could tell by her tone she was upset at herself, whether that was from her inability to feel or from her inability to express herself. For a second, I related to her because I had been in that spot once, thinking that the only way to live was to not be attached, to protect myself from bonds that could disappoint me, take a piece of me with them, shatter me. It was a sad life to live really and I would never want to go back even if that meant I wouldn't have an arrow protruding from my abdomen.

"That's what I used to think," I murmured, offering a simple sentence of little comfort. I didn't have time to advise her because I didn't care enough to. I had spoken to humor that small part of me that saw myself in her angry, scared eyes. I couldn't save her though. _You could only save so many._

The cannon was heard at last, announcing the death of the closest thing I had to a sister, of my hero, the person who had saved me, allowed me to have my last shred of joy. The cannon shouted her animosity towards the _**voracity**_ of the bloodthirsty Thresh.

"Go say good-bye to her," I heard the District 12 girl mutter after the silence that the cannon had caused. All the creatures of the forest had stopped communicating with each other and started holding a minute of silence in honor of the death of another tribute. I didn't glance back at her; I didn't deign her with a response until I reached the edge of the clearing, stumbling painfully and clutching my shirt where the laceration was situated. She had been dead silent, watching like a spectator with those blue eyes of hers.

When I turned around, I knew I had a defeated look on my face because a part of me felt pathetic at having to ask her in the first place. I would never forgive myself though if I never tried because Clove's death settled heavily on my conscience and I couldn't let it invite friends. The risk was too high because the next time it would be Cato in danger and I would give up anything, whether it was my pride, my dignity or my entire identity, to keep him safe. I had to try.

"Don't hurt him, I implore you," I whispered wetly and the wind carried my words to her, pleading as much as I did for the miracle to happen. I looked down at the bleeding trail I had left, leaning against the sturdy trunk, my hands shaking in anxiety next to me. She did not move to reject the idea immediately and she did not mock me about it. She simply pursued her lips and looked away, stretching the silence before breaking it and along my heart.

"I can't possibly promise you that," she whispered back and from her tone I could tell that at least a part of her was touched by the situation. A part of her felt my desperation rain on her boots, wash her indifference away. I decided to talk to that part at that moment, the one who understood my pain and my position.

"Alright, I understand. Then how about a Gallipoli Truce?" I suggested painfully in a gruff tone that attempted to hide the lump that was starting to build in my throat. My eyes had started to sting at the implications behind my words. The term had come to use after the battle of Gallipoli in 1915. It meant a ceasefire long enough for both sides to honorably bury their dead. In that case, it meant a détente until he said good-bye to me—until… I died.

"You're morbid, cave-boy," she attempted to tease, using the nickname with a smirk, but a sad tone had enveloped her voice, making it harder for me to breathe. The worst sort of hopelessness appeared when everyone, including your enemy, pitied you with compassion that you found heart breaking in their eyes.

I could sense her agreement without her even voicing it and I nodded, bowing my head in thank you before turning around and starting to edge my way towards Clove's body. I knew she wanted to say something more to me but we both acknowledged the dismal aura that had settled around us. Before I completely disappeared from her view, I turned around again because I wanted to get the words off my chest where they were festering soon to be torched by the gastric acid in my blood.

"Hey, fire-girl, I think you will win. But you will soon come to wish you had died with the rest of us," I muttered, surprising her into silence. Her eyes widened and she tried to come up with a response, failing several times because she knew the implications. I had assumed that it would not be Cato and she couldn't understand why.

"And what about your sweetheart?" She asked after several seconds. I smiled at her not letting her know where my guess was coming from. I knew Cato well enough by now to know he was not that predictable. A part of me was rooting hard for him to come out alive, but the same part that had merged with him during our previous night knew that unless he really did not have a heart and had fooled me all the way, he would have a severe handicap placed on him, a handicap she couldn't possibly have.

"What about yours?" I asked, switching the topic so I wouldn't have to explain why it seemed like I was wishing death upon the love of my life. She hesitated, not answering because I was asking her whether she had the will to kill the boy from her own District. She did but she couldn't admit it in the open because that would make her the monster she so frequently condemned.

We both flinched and I almost fell on my ass when the sound of a fourth cannon struck the air that day, startling me into shock. That change in events I had not expected. Our numbers dwindled down to four and I was awestruck at how chaotic the game was getting. The audience must have been peeing their pants and biting their nails in anticipation. The Capitol was probably frozen, hand half-way down the button that would release the hounds, thinking in disbelief that maybe it would not be necessary at all. I think I was more in control of the game than Seneca at the moment.

"I guess one of us won't have to worry about that anymore," I mumbled gravely before a smirk graced my lips, my nerves still stinging at the initial terror gripping my lungs. I wasn't sadistic but she deserved that much after putting me through the stress, after being the accomplice in Clove's death. She deserved the guilt after admitting that she never cared about him.

"What do you mean?" She asked confused and I had been faster than she in my deduction because it had taken less time for me to get over my initial shock. I had expected the result ever since I set fire to that bush. I had told myself that the sound of a cannon would become familiar by the end of my life. I would enter heaven at the explosion of one after all, float up towards the sky, leave my broken, limited body behind for them to clean up.

"Do the math. There are—or were five of us alive. I highly doubt Thresh just died. Who does that leave?" I explained patiently, not losing my humor when understanding dawned on her face, her eyes narrowing in pain.

"What makes you think it's him?" she asked through a dry voice and we both knew whom 'him' referred to. It wasn't Cato. It was her so-called boyfriend. Cato had gone back and finished the job once and for all. I didn't know how he had managed to find the other and I assumed the number of cannons had startled the lover-boy into searching for his girlfriend; hoping one of those shots was not she. I was proud of him at that moment and I wanted to see him so badly because I knew he had that victorious smile on his face and that shining pride in his eyes. I wanted to kiss him in his afterglow, congratulate him on his strength.

"I feel it and you do too if you allow yourself the opportunity. I am still complete but you are no longer," I offered as an explanation, shrugging my shoulders and turning around to move towards the clearing. I hope she wasn't angry enough to shoot me in the back but I thought that if she were planning to do just that, it would have been done by now.

"I never felt anything for him. This doesn't affect me at all," She whispered huskily and I could sense the desperation in her voice as she tried to convince herself of her detachment. The hurt would come later and I felt bad for her yet again, knowing that I would be sobbing my eyes out if that had been Cato. She was holding strong though, confident in denial. She didn't know how frequently that exact moment would haunt her dreams.

"Then more power to you," I replied plainly, not facing her because I didn't want to deal with one more painful look. I had seen one too many and I needed to save the rest of my endurance for the one Cato would give me when he saw me in that broken state. I knew I had to be strong enough to wipe that look of his face and replace it with a strong, determined one or my prophecy would come true. I left the fire-girl, damaged and mourning a second loss as I thought about which one of them would be able to overcome their grief long enough to wipe out the other.

I secretly hoped it was Cato because him winning meant both of us winning. But I secretly hoped it wasn't him because I didn't want him to be transformed back into that emotionless monster and I didn't want him to walk back into the Capitol's clutches. They would torture him for my sins. They would make him cry and I would be too transparent to comfort him. I would be floating by his side, invisible, doomed to spend eternity as a spectator, walking the purgatory that was the Capitol.


	18. Babylon The Great's Vanagloria Part V

**Chapter 18 – Babylon The Great's Vanagloria**

**Part V/V**

Marvel's POV

I stopped stumbling towards the sounds of the struggle when the white, silhouette of another parachute dropped in front of my eyes, landing on my extended hand. I looked up towards its original location, raising my eyebrows in questioning, my eyes wide. I had not asked for anything and I couldn't imagine what the metallic container would hide in the inside. Opening it, I took note of the lavender card, different from the light blue ones that Gloss liked to utilize—he had a strange affection for the color. I grasped it between my fingers, feeling the soft texture of the expensive paper and gawking at the polished writing on top. The note said, in extravagant calligraphy that contrasted badly with the crude language used:

"_I sold my right nut to get you this. Use it wisely, kid." –S.C._

It didn't take long for me to put together whom the donor. I would have guessed that snappy attitude even without the initials following the writing. I was surprised to note that he had made it so open, so public to the eyes of everyone in the Districts that despised him. Was he directing the cameras to avoid my card so that the public thought it was merely another expensive gift from a die-hard sponsor, like the one Finnick Odair received in his Games?

My curiosity peaked as I placed the card reluctantly in my pocket, revealing the insides where the present was covered in some form of Styrofoam wrap most likely because it was breakable. I wondered briefly what would cost Seneca that much, seeing as I was the tribute most supported by my sponsors. Couldn't they give me the advantage he was providing in the small container? Had they abandoned me after they knew I was most likely not going to make it out alive? Had they placed their bets with a safer tribute, like the District 12 girl?

Gently prying away the cover, my eyes widened and my mouth dropped in disbelief as I looked away quickly to stare at the cameras in the trees. It took a few seconds before I could come back to it so I would make sure my eyes weren't lying to me. Inside the capsule, I found a syringe filled with clear liquid that had a sticker of an electrified skull, symbolizing death, on top of it. I was all too familiar with the purpose, having seen it in my darkest nightmares.

It was a potassium chloride syringe used in lethal injections. It stopped the heart and therefore killed a victim upon contact. The sponsors never supplied weapons that were that deathly powerful, they settled for medicine and indirect aid. They didn't want to be at the frontline of the attack in case controversy started. Most of the donors were of high status in the Capitol so the extra publicity annoyed them. I had seen some of the scandals and debates that popped up during the Games season in my past years, the ones I could run around the streets of the colorful city without being noticed.

Seneca must have really sold his balls to give me the advantage of that specific weapon, lethal in close combat and small enough to be hidden. I took the glassy needle in my hand, testing the mechanism and spurting a few drops of the liquid on the grass with an awestruck expression. If I saved it then I could give Cato the upper hand, help him win and come out of the torture chamber alive. He needed me to save it. I thanked the 'sponsors', staring at the camera in gratitude for the first time since I had blasted from the ground to enter the arena. It felt like for once he had come through for me. He was risking his position to show me, subtly enough for his pride to remain intact, before I died with regrets that he did care. He knew I was not going to be his winner, the one he so desperately wanted from the little boy he kept pushing to be better. Yet he had given me one last chance at control, simultaneously telling me that he agreed to my compromise: if I couldn't win, they would support Cato. He would take my place as the favored one. My damaged lungs could inflate better knowing he would not be in a disadvantage.

My fingers wrapped around the tube, my mind vowing to utilize it well, hoping that I would be able to survive until I could pass it on to him. I placed the needle safely in my jacket pocket to ensure it wouldn't be lost though I doubted any other tribute that had not witnessed an execution would figure out its contents. My eyes darted to the lump it made on my jacket in fear that I would accidentally poke myself. I could put the safety top back on the needle but I feared that the addition of that barrier would make it harder to use in a moment's need. My gut was tingling in anticipation.

The pain had admittedly returned to my body, announcing its presence with a few spasms in my stomach and backbone that left me gasping. It was as if I could feel every throb of my breaking muscles, every poisoned blood drop escaping my wound and every molecule of acid burning through the inside tissue of my mangled stomach. I felt nauseous and weak.

The spear was occupying my left hand, weighing me down, and my other hand was supporting me on the trees as I tried to move back in time to see her once more. I knew she was gone forever. She would never be able to look at me again with her soft-hued eyes or talk to me with her sassy, high-pitched voice or advise me with a maturity that seemed so out of place in someone as young as her. Her kind-hearted parents had lost their only child and it was all because of my doing. She had sacrificed an entire life so I could have a few moments. She had given up an opportunity so I could lie to myself about getting back the chance I had thrown away, stupidly following their trap.

As I kept searching through the thick trees, that were trying their hardest to protect me from a cruel view that was most likely going to plague my dying mind, I heard the unmistakable sound of a hovercraft, fluttering through the air, and I screamed in denial, jogging as fast as my wound could allow whilst holding the injury. I stumbled upon the clearing and fell on my knees at the same time that the peacekeepers were about to close the metallic door, already having dragged her in their possession.

I stared at them in pleading through wet eyes and swollen lips, hoping they would let me have a final look, take pity on my crumbling frame, but all they sacrificed for my pathetic self was an icy, knowing stare, one that said they would be waiting for me, they would be throwing my beaten corpse with the others in an blasé manner as soon as the cannon allowed them to take me.

I shuddered in fear of the thought before I reminded myself that I would be dead, my emotions fried, my heart non-existent. I wouldn't feel any pain from the Capitol anymore. It was for the best that I had not looked at Clove so I could remember her as the bubbly, brave girl with two braids on her silky, dark hair. I didn't have to experience the dehumanization that Thresh had inflicted upon her. It didn't have to be like Glimmer who had never once entered my memories in her beautiful from again. Maybe on the way back to the Capitol our bodies would be side to side and she would not feel so alone. Maybe I would meet her wherever our tainted killer souls would go after they had abandoned our bodies.

I watched the craft disappear in the air, idly playing with the grass and staining it with my bloody hands. I wanted to lie down, stay on the ground so I could control myself when the pain came. I knew it would be soon and I was starting to get scared. The thought of returning to the Capitol frightened me more, a concept, which I found ridiculous considering, I would be dead. My hands lay flat on the ground as I sought to raise myself of the floor, continue my half-conscious journey through the woods until the trail of blood following me contained all my insides, my corpse an empty shell, my soul always wandering to find his haven. With each passing second, my mental monologues got more morbid.

I didn't have time to dwell on them too much though because the moment I thought my knees could handle my weight without breaking, my messy curls were grabbed roughly and yanked backwards, practically separating from my splitting skull. My mind went dark in protest; my eyes squinted against the impact. I screamed in utter pain, thrashing wildly, trying to see the offender even though I knew exactly who it was. I had been in those rough, careless clutches before.

"I was starting to think I wouldn't get the pleasure of breaking this skull of yours myself," he grunted in joy, shaking me like a ragdoll from my screaming head and causing the arrow to drive deeper into my stomach, blood gurgling out of my mouth, making me cough harshly in between my exclamations. I was shrieking in pain and frustration. My hands had dropped the spear on the ground and were working on attempting to dislocate his claws from my bleeding scalp. I scratched at his strong arms, my nails digging into his flexed forearms as my body moved raucously against him to try and get him to leave me alone. He was stronger, uninjured and bigger than I. My efforts were futile.

"Come here, you whimpering, little whore." He used one hand to drag me towards him, my legs scraping on the ground at the movement. When my tailbone hit against the back of his rubbery boots with a crack, he turned me to face his way while his other palm slapped me roughly on the face, backhanding me. "Shut up!" I didn't have time to get a good look at him before my eyes saw darkness and sparks. I flinched at his roar, my cheek flamed and my mouth filled with so much blood that I choked on it, heaving, the red liquid spurting out of my cavern spastically, landing on my shirt.

"We don't want to alert anyone now," He grunted against my ear, shivers running down my spine. I noticed the way his voice wavered in amusement and I angrily screamed against my brain's advice for the sake of fighting back, hurting him like he had hurt Clove. My throat became raw from yelling for him to come, pleading he was close enough, repeating his name. Another slap shut me up with a sob as he blurted more insults in my ear, filthy words that I couldn't quite catch from my initial shock.

The second hit across my swollen face momentarily stunned me so he took the time to throw me against the floor, kicking my side jerkily so I lay flat on my back, and climb on top of me, settling below my torso and nailing me down with his suffocating weight. Blood squirted out of the wound as my legs were blocked of the circulation, pushing all the liquid out of the opening, sitting right in front of his sadistic smirk.

When my eyes recovered, I could look at him through reddened vision, his huge dark form towering on top of me and his baring white teeth grinning in satisfaction. I started to panic as the pain choked the breath out of me. My hand reached for the spear, lying innocently beside me, but he grabbed it, twisting my wrist in an agonizing angle in front of my pleading eyes. I was sure if I didn't fight back, it would break because the bone was starting to crack in pressure, the morphine the only reason I had not passed out. My other arm moved to elbow him in the ribs and he doubled forward, releasing my hand long enough for me to retract it into safety.

"Feisty I see. I like the struggling ones. Reluctant to die too with that arrow in your little stomach," He teased cruelly, smirking sadistically down at me as he moved to pull the arrow out and my hands rushed to protect my wound because I knew I couldn't let him take that away from me. As ironic as it seemed, her kiss of death was the only object keeping me alive at the moment. My hands moved to push his torso away, punching desperately at his face as he chuckled, evading my hits with ease. My eyes watered against my will in fury and he caught it, a flash of hesitance showing up in his eyes before being shattered by the desire for carnage.

"Don't cry little baby." He snorted at my flailing trying to pin both my hands down, purposely aggravating my wounds by moving his body against me, bruising my searing stomach and head-butting my already bloody face with such power that I sobbed dryly when the back of my skull slammed against the ground. The pain was blinding and I was pleading for him to stop without even allowing myself the permission to beg. "Stop. Please, I can't. Stop." There was so much blood on my face, entering my mouth and invading my nose, that I was gagging on my own stomach acids and fighting the need to faint, my vision wavering in contrast.

"This would hurt way less if you weren't such a little bitch," He roared, annoyed at my continuous lashing, his breath coming in as heavy as mine from the effort of keeping me contained. My eyes had started to tear up and I couldn't see him anymore from my blurry vision, tears dripping occasionally sideways down my temple and into the blood-soggy ground. "This is for Rue."

My head banged on the ground hard a second time and I practically howled because my brain felt like it was exploding. He had managed to grab my hair and slam it on the unforgiving ground. "I didn't please—" The shock made me cease all movement and my arms fell down limp on my side, my eyes squinted shut, trying to block out the bright light coming from the back. "I didn't mean to. It was an accident." My whispers came out of my lips as my eyes drifted shut against the stabbing sensation. Clove must have suffered through that exact experience, laying below him in resignation, crying in pain.

My heart started beating faster, realizing that if I didn't act I would suffer the same fate as her. I couldn't let her sacrifice go to waste. I couldn't let him win! I thought about the injection, pressing against my back painfully. I had wanted to save it for Cato so he could use it on the fire girl and win the entire thing but at that rate if I died, Thresh would be around to hunt him down and the lethal medication would come back with me on the craft. Seneca had gambled too much for me to waste the opportunity. I couldn't let his blue eyes see the gift return with me next to my corpse.

One of my hands slid closer to my shaking body, slowly trailing through the grass, trying not to attract his attention as I opened my eyes to look at him innocently, hoping that the stark display of pain in them would make him hesitate long enough. I let the tears pool down my face, pouting my trembling lips at his caught off-guard face. He faltered violently, his breath catching before he shook his head against the pity. It only took five seconds of scrunched up eyes and his bit lip for him to get back into his killer persona.

He smirked at my resignation, not making a move to stop me from reaching my body, thinking that I had given up the thought of rebelling and was merely recoiling into my body from the fear. My chest rose with the harshness of my breaths and my shirt stuck to my abdomen with the fresh, sticky blood leaking from my wound. His hands slid up my sides creepily, resting on either side of my head, his eyes never leaving my shiny, green ones.

"Where is your boyfriend now, you cunt?" he growled low in his breath, lowering closer to me as his hand moved to grasp my hair again, his face close enough for me to head-butt it. I held my stare even when he smirked his full lips, trying to not squint in preparation for the pain that was to come when he cracked my skull open. I needed a little more time. My breath was coming in short and his breath was fanning on my face because he was so close now. My hand had reached my jacket and was working on squirming into my pocket, the fingers trembling too harshly to be useful. I felt them touch the end of the glassy, condensed surface, my fighting spirit recharging.

"You'll never get him. He will cut you open," I muttered in pure abomination, the words hitting his face like a slap. His eyes were clouded in intense rage and he pulled my head up so fast that I almost crashed into his, my mind spinning at the sudden movement. I was expecting him to slam me back on the ground, hoping that my skull could handle one more blow, but he stopped midway through and a look of twisted euphoria filled his black eyes. My breath caught in my throat at the realization that he had a treatment much worse planned in his mind as he gently placed my head on the floor, his fingers tickling the back of my neck roughly, sending tremors down my body.

"You don't deny it, huh? That's fascinating," He murmured in an icy cold voice and my entire body stiffened at the context. I knew what he was going to do. He was going to hurt me, that much was a given, but he was going to try and hurt Cato by using me as bait. He would demean me in front of the blond, verbally and physically. The only reason I wasn't dead yet was because he needed Cato to see his dominant position, feel the pain as he watched the life drain from my already wet, resigned eyes.

His hands moved from my hair to my chest, holding me down, and my skin burned in disgust wherever he touched me with his filthy palms. The position was reminiscent of the one I had spent the best night of my life with Cato and the dual representation was making my stomach churn in painful realization. I would die never experiencing that again while Thresh worked hard to scrub it off my memory and replace it with the rough treatment he was introducing. "I wonder if…" Before I had time to digest his intentions fully, understand his words, admit them to my scared brain, he had ripped open my shirt with snarl, his fingers still holding the damaged fabric, and the cold air hit me like a bus, causing my wound to sting, the pieces of dry skin and blood stuck to the fabric ripping off me in pure hurt.

"Oh, lookie here, he left marks. He's nippy, huh?" He chuckled sadistically, his finger sliding down the constellation of hickeys down my throat and on my collarbone. His eyes scanned my terrified reaction with a smirk, my fingers clutching the needle so hard that I was scared it would explode in my hand.

"Maybe I will leave some of my own," he sneered rapidly, leaning forward to bite my neck with his pointy canines and I screamed in protest, my hands moving to violently push him away, the needle forgotten by my side carelessly, my eyes blazing in anger. He was not budging with my efforts and my claws had left tracks of blood on his arms. He chuckled against my skin as I retracted as much as I could from him, shaking my head and wriggling my body. I knew he was playing with me, trying to get as much satisfaction as he could, knowing I would be too weak to defend myself. He was probably trying to stall for time until Cato showed up so he could see me molested and dead in the hands of the monster he so proudly pushed into the sinks that day in the training ground bathrooms.

"Violent little thing, aren't you? What'd he have to do, tie you up and take you from the back? He'd have to gag you too with how much noise you make," He continued teasing vulgarly, spitting out the sexual connotations one after the other, setting my veins on fire. I was wild at his words, wanting nothing more than to bite his head off. I snarled against him, pulling at his hair and punching him with as much power as I could muster. His head moved to the side at the impact and he spit blood on the floor, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I did not seem to have made any damage.

"I've been patient but…" When he looked back at me, his eyes turned animalistic and the moment he lunged forward, his hands around my throat in a choking grip, I stumbled with the needle, patting the ground beside me to find it. As soon as the familiar liquid, warmed in the sun, settled in my palm, I hammered the needle to the side of his neck, pushing all the lethal liquid in his body. He screamed in anguish, looking up confused and his hands moved to extract the offending object, crushing the glassy tube in his palm, shards flying on the ground. My lungs filled with air and I choked, starting to breathe at the same time that he started to stop.

"What did you do to me, you slut?" he yelled but it was too late, the seizures had started and I could tell his heart was collapsing. His face started to turn blue, his mouth foaming, and he stood up from me, his hands on his throat trying to take air in. I forced my body away from his attack, cringing against a corner, remembering the first time I witnessed the effects of the drug through scared eyes as Seneca ordered the peacekeepers, holding me up on his hip, unaware that I could more than understand everything that was happening past the glass window where the screams of the man echoed through the walls.

His eyes rolled to the back of his head and before I knew it, he had collapsed on the floor without a last word and the cannon had blasted, screaming the _**wrath **_that I had felt taking his life, silencing his cries of anguish. I pulled myself up to my elbows, crying in relief as the meadow quieted once more. My breathing remained ragged and my eyes pained but I had done it. I had removed the final threat, leaving solely three of us in the finale. I didn't know if Katniss had realized that the cannon signified Thresh's death and not mine but I didn't care. I hoped she would honor our agreement and stay away until I was safely in the arms of my torturers, surging through the air in the craft.

The pain flooded my body at once and I bit my lip in preparation. I clenched my fist to try and hold it back but it was to no avail. The morphine had worn off and I was close to dying mentally with the amount of nerves exploding in agony. It really was unbearable. I fell on the ground, laying on my side, knowing that soon enough I wouldn't be able to control my body enough to not choke on my puke. I coughed uncontrollably, tearing up, chewing through my own lip.

"One more, Gloss, please!" I screamed in a rasp, begging insistently, scrambling to my knees in desperation and looking at the sky. The withdrawal had kicked in hard, accompanying the rest of the uncomfortable symptoms, bringing me back to those god-forsaken years where pain was all I could feel. I emptied my stomach one more time on the ground, flinching at the amount of blood that escaped me, feeling as if I had lost my heart in the upheaval. "Gloss, please!"

A white parachute fell down from the sky and I sobbed in relief, crawling to get it, feeling my limbs break beneath me. My fingers kept sliding on the capsule and I wiped them on my pants before attempting again. I didn't know if I could manage another injection with the trembling of my hands. Opening the container was disappointing at first because I did not spot the needle inside, my eyes darting around the small surface in fear. I pulled out a bottle of water, one of those plastic sippy-cups that I insisted much to Gloss' annoyance in having. It was easier to slurp the water with my swollen, scarred lips as I lay on the side, the note clutched in my fingers. It took a while for me to remove my hand long enough to be able to read it because I knew it was the last one I would see, the last glimpse at his hand-writing. When the water had finished and my courage had returned, I followed the words, my eyes dancing along the curves of the letters.

I smiled in liberation, tears escaping my eyes because the card gave me the strength I needed to fight through the pain of death, because it held the agony back for one second and I could breathe again as if I wasn't damaged beyond repair, because it said:

_"At the end of the day we can endure a lot more than we think we can. Stay strong, baby. He is coming for you. He is safe. He is close."_


	19. Belphegor's Pigritia Seu Acedia Part I

**For my lovely reviewers, as soon as I could. Please show the story some love if you believe it deserves it. Only a few more chances to review. :)**

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**Chapter 19– Belphegor's Pigritia Seu Acedia**

**Finale Part I/II**

Cato's POV

The dull sound of the first cannon, firing in the distance, stirred me awake from my deep slumber. My mind felt foggy and my body relaxed, having had a couple of hours to sleep. I didn't remember much from last night but I did know I had woken up constantly, plagued by nightmares. I hated sleeping after I had killed. Marvel had been with me every step of the way though and feeling his fluffy hair in my face and his sturdy body in my arms calmed me down. I shuffled in my collapsed position to try and reach for him. He must have wiggled away adorably like he did when he got too hot. My fingers kept searching for him.

I mumbled in my sleep about it hopefully being someone from District 12 and I shifted around stretching painfully, expecting to find Marvel on my side in his usual cuddled position, clutching my shirt. He shifted so much in his sleep, usually from nightmares, but he always managed to be touching me in every position he went through. I found it cute and endearing. When I was conscious enough to hear him struggle, I whispered words of comfort. The other times I just moved closer to him, pulling him to myself protectively. I never wanted him to suffer whatever he was re-living that particular night again.

As I flung my arm behind me, I was waiting to touch his soft skin or his blonde curls. It was so quiet I couldn't even hear him breathing. The outside of the tent was silent as well. I let my hand drop impatiently and it smacked hard on the ground in a painful thud, my fingers twitching in agony. The pain removed the last traces of sleep from my sticky eyes and I cursed out loud, jumping up and rubbing my face with my sore knuckles. The daylight shone through the tent, making my dilated pupils sting.

"Jesus, Marvel where are you hiding now?" I grunted sleepily, wiping the sleep of my eyes and looking blearily around the tent to find it completely empty. The sheets were ruffled and cold signifying he was long gone. His clothes from the day before had been picked up, his blue jacket nowhere to be seen. I took some time to put the information together because my head was fogged with sleep. My palms started to sweat as the silence stretched but I didn't let myself believe I was alone.

"Marvel! Baby!" I screamed impatiently, too lazy to get out of the warm tent, waiting for his beautiful face to pop up in between the flaps, smiling at me that dazzling grin. My legs had fallen asleep, tickling insistently, and I desperately wanted to see his form, assure myself he was fine before dropping to bed again. I had accumulated a lot of sleep-debt since our time at the Games and I couldn't manage to get enough of it when I did fall into deep stagnation. I dropped back on the sheets waiting, my heart slowly skipping beats here and there in preparation.

Silence reigned outside of the tent, not a single shuffle heard, and I cocked my head sideways in questioning, calling for Clove instead, hoping she did not hate me too much after yesterday's quarrel. I hadn't meant to hurt her but I couldn't stand the fear of losing him any longer. I fell asleep each night, trying to shield as much of his body as I could, my eyes closing to the sight of the tent's entrance. I tried to imagine myself in her position to assess what I would have done. It only served to make me more paranoid.

It was when none of them replied to my aggravated yelling that my heart started to hammer in my chest. My limbs woke up in adrenaline, the mixture of sensation going through them numb from the fear.

"Fuck! That's it. I am never sleeping again. In my life," I growled under my breath in an incredulous tone, pushing myself up forcefully and scrambling out of the tent, still in my sweats and t-shirt, the clothes wrinkled from sleep. The surrounding area looked calm, the wind blowing everything lightly, no noise coming from the tree line. Nothing had moved from the previous day, the few materials left gathered close to the mouth of the tent for protection. The campfire was sizzling to ashes, letting me know that Clove and Marvel had left a while ago.

I thought for a second that they had gone hunting together, hence the cannon. I didn't think them foolish enough to leave me asleep if they had decided to pursue another path. My evil mind whispered that they had abandoned me, ditched me vulnerable, hoping I would get killed so they didn't have to do it. My eyes stung at the thought and my breath caught. I stumbled around the camp anxiously for a little, my hands in my hair, shaking my head against the invading, manipulative thoughts. He wouldn't leave me—Clove might've but he would never. He loved me; I knew he did because his eyes softened around the edges when he saw me, his smile shy and genuine.

That scenario couldn't have been it; something must have happened. Had he gone to hunt Clove down, convince her otherwise? They seemed to get along well; they clearly cared about each other. I bit my lip against the guilt because if that were to be true it would mean I fucked up. I placed them both in danger, trying to protect them as best as I could. What kind of leader was I?

I looked around once more, trying to decide on a route, pulling my boots on, to note that neither of them had brought a backpack, a fact, which I found extremely disturbing. Why would they leave camp without bringing supplies? If Clove had run away, wouldn't she have brought a survival kit? Had she hid a bag like Marvel had tried to do in the beginning?

I took a deep, shaky breath, cursing on the exhale, before I let myself think of the worst-case scenario. They were out there and they were probably in danger. Whatever happened that lead them away from safety was not important. The significant part was that I needed to protect them, that my little one was in the forest on his own probably lost and scared, calling for me. I could feel my heart tinge at the imagery, my stomach throbbing in dull pain.

Without a second thought, I sprinted towards my sword and headed for the forest, without changing into my arena jacket or bringing a bag. If they had thought it unnecessary for the retreat, I wouldn't need it either. I would need time. My legs carried me as fast as they could muster with the paralyses still running through them from my sleepy condition. I was usually in better shape but the panic did not help my respiration, my lungs aching and my throat too dry.

I broke through the dense forest, trying to analyze the field for any traces but there seemed to be nothing different. My eyes could not catch any of the small signals, my mind lost, not knowing what to look for. For all I knew, they could have entered from a completely different area. I didn't stop long enough to observe whether there were any footsteps. It frustrated me to the point of tears that I wasn't good at survival mechanisms. The arena was foreign, the trees intimidating and the sudden movement of the animals nerve-racking. I had not been trained in these sets of skills because they had never thought I would need it, assuming I would just monopolize the Cornucopia. They hadn't accounted for the situation where our entire supply batch had been blow into oblivion.

How had that happened? Who had set off the mines without getting torn into pieces themselves? The red head was the only one who seemed to know about the trap and she was dead, long gone. Somebody else had been watching us from afar and we had been too oblivious to notice, too caught up in our own little victory world. I cursed myself for letting my guard down, knowing that I hadn't acted like a true leader, and for that reason my team was in danger. I had been too wrapped in emotion, bathing in the comforting feelings that being with him created.

As I picked up the pace, I noticed the smell of smoke; fire, something burning and I stopped myself to look around, my eyes scanning the sky desperately. Not surprisingly I could see the faint, almost invisible traces of smoke in the sky and I slapped myself mentally for having missed it the first time around. I didn't know if that was Clove or Marvel because I couldn't think of any reason for them to light a fire but I knew it was something important and as of right now it was the only clue I had. Nobody would light a fire for no reason with so little of us left. It had to be a signal.

I tried to continue sprinting while simultaneously keeping my eye on the sky to avoid losing the feeble indicator, wavering in and out with the intensity of the sun. It must not have been a good strategy because before I had time to squint, I was flying through the air and my face had smashed hard on the ground, my hands jumping in front of me to smooth the impact. I pulled myself up to my knees, coughing and sputtering, too shocked to breathe for a second, only able to feel the pulsing of my brain and the blood running down my nose. I had tripped that much was clear but I thought my glances towards the terrain were doing a good enough job at helping me avoid impact. It was as if the branch had come out of nowhere, appearing at just the right time for the momentum to carry me forward and beyond.

I looked at the ground when my vision had returned, surprised to see how much blood had puddled on the floor, dark and ominous. I flinched in disgust, one of my hands touching my face to observe the damage, tapping lightly on my throbbing appendage. When I pulled my fingers back, I only found a few droplets of red staining my tips, not enough to soak my palm. I shifted my vision back to the ground again in perplexity, trying to understand what was happening before I squinted to see the blood on the grass was dried up, old probably by a couple of hours.

The realization made me jump up on my feet, grab my sword and look around, crouching in an offensive position. Somebody had passed that way before me, marked the area so they could return, and they could be anywhere at that point. I was silent and silence greeted me back as nothing moved in the shadows behind the trees. My sword lowered along with my eyes, which traced the ground trying to find a trail and landing on a few droplets further away. Somebody was either injured or using the blood to try and find his way back. Whichever it was it meant that there was another tribute close by and no matter how much I wanted to find Clove and Marvel, I had to make sure I could tie this end. I didn't let my mind phrase that the tribute could be one of them, damaged and attempting to head back to the camp.

Following the trail led me to a rocky area that I had never been to before. We should have explored the forest more if we had the intention of hunting. We had been stupid, cocky—we deserved everything we got. Having hung around the Cornucopia, feasting on the undeserved supplies, was handicapping us when the time came that we had to move because the tributes of the forest had already survived two weeks without supplies. They wouldn't come out to make it easy.

The environment seemed so peaceful, the wind light against my sweaty forehead, that I startled violently when I heard his raspy voice, jumping in the air and raising my sword with a swishing sound. I might have let out some squealing noise but I would never admit to that.

"And you said camouflaging skills were useless in the arena," The mysteriously familiar voice said in a bitter and sarcastic tone. I found my eyes wildly scanning through the arena, trying to find the source, darting to the bushes, behind the rocks, behind my own shaking body. The entire experience was freaking me out because I thought that I was either going blind or hearing voices. The voice chuckled at my failed attempts and I was about to scream in frustration when I spotted him, lying on the ground, painted beautifully to merge so well with the background.

I stood in awe, analyzing the contours of the paint and the difference in texture between his skin and the hard surface of the rocks. Covered in plants and soil, none of his soft-hued skin was visible; he had become part of the earth. He was looking at me in a mix of regret and expectation, staring at the way my lips fell open in fascination. I wanted to reach for his face and touch him just so I could convince myself of his existence. There was no fear in his bright blue eyes and he had resigned early to his fate. The expression he was showing bordered relief that somebody had found him, appreciation for the person who would finally take his life.

The wound I had caused in his leg the day he decided to attack my pack was infected and raw, smelling like puss and crispy with blood. It made me cringe in disgust and avoid my eyes in pity. He probably had not gotten any help with it, seeing as he didn't have any sponsors who were willing to spend that much on his recuperation. I silently hissed, making a face, when I saw him trail his fingers on the wound, presenting it to my eyes. He would have been better off with us. At least when we killed him, it would be fast and painless. He chose to stick with his partner, though, the one who had ditched him alone. I was surprised he was able to walk around with that leg because he had clearly done some walking. I assumed he needed to feed and if it weren't for that urgent task he would lay paralyzed, eyes closed, lips praying for heaven.

"Impressed, Cato?" he asked again, breaking the silence settled, amusement lacing his tone. When I looked at his face again, he winked at me, making my upper lip twitch in annoyance. I bristled at his good mood, the sword swaying from side to side in my hand. He seemed very out of character. Where was the quiet shy boy now? It was strange what happened to people before death. After the realization hit them, it was as if they could be free for a second, see the light and transform into what they had always wanted to be. They did not have to think of anything beyond the upcoming moments of their lives. The feeling seemed liberating and I wondered if I would ever get to experience it.

I realized I had been silent for too long, offering him the satisfaction of seeing me stumped, so I smirked back at him a little forcefully, showing my canines sadistically and kneeling so I was standing above him, close to his face, my hands leaning on my bent knees. He did not flinch at my proximity; he didn't even stiffen. His eyes were so innocently blue that they made me nauseous with the familiarity.

It was as if he was waiting for me to make my move. For that sole reason, the fact that he thought he could read me, I chose to surprise him. I didn't want him to think he was in control of the situation though I knew he was. He had escaped from their clutches and I was still being tortured, my ultimate weakness being held in front of me, played with, for the sole sake of seeing me suffer. I was bitter at my fate so I projected my hatred for the Capitol on his frail figure. I wanted that scared, helpless boy to show up, the one that reminded me of myself, the one who drove me crazy with hesitation. I wanted that boy to come back so I could kill him, kill them both, and prove to myself that he meant nothing to me, that I had moved passed that stage in my life. I wasn't scared anymore and I wasn't lost. I just needed a closure from my past and he would provide it gracefully.

"Not in the least, lover-boy. It's doesn't seem to have helped you much, now does it?" I asked sarcastically, teasing him to verbally encircle him. He was keeping up his front, his apathetic façade, and the more I got into the game of pulling him out of his shell, the more I forgot the purpose of my journey. Seeing him injured had eased my fear because at least I knew District 12 was not working together, which meant that Clove and Marvel had a better chance at dominating whoever they had encountered.

"We can't all be popular, Cato. Some of us do not want to get naked in exchange for a couple of gifts like that bitch of yours. That's prostitution you know? But I guess the Capitol breeds whores…" he muttered in a low-pitched tone, smirking at me for the first time, and I hadn't realized how hard I was clenching my fists until blood soaked my palms. I couldn't gulp the saliva gathered in my mouth and my lips shook in fury, my mind racing to find a comeback that would adequately describe my anger.

My entire body had frozen, completely out of my control, while my mind attempted to take charge of the rage that was blinding me. I was starting to see red again and all I wanted to do was cut his mouth open with the knife that my right hand was trembling against, settled at the back of my belt. I knew the fucking bitch was riling me up on purpose but I couldn't stop snarling at his words. I was in shock because a part of me was livid but the other part was so surprised by his guts and his filthy language that it was making it impossible for me to act.

I had thought of the boy as innocent. I had pitied him, sparing his life that first day. What a cheat! What a lie! The thought of being manipulated slapped me harder in the face than the insult itself and I was trying to hold my anger back enough to think of the worst possible way to humiliate him and hurt him because he deserved it. Throughout the entire time he was staring at me struggle with blank eyes, never once breaking the contact as if he was trying to unravel my thoughts using simply my facial expressions.

I reached that point of calm after the storm that always seemed to come along when I was in a really sadistic mood and I smiled at him creepily, stretching my hands and cracking my knuckles in a slow, deliberate process. His face twisted in confusion because he must have expected me to attack him immediately and end his life but that would be too little.

"For that oh-so-eloquent speech you made, I am going to cut you to pieces, starting with this filthy leg. Then, I will chop your balls off and choke you with them while you're still alive as a chunk of meat," I stated pleasantly, graphically explaining the details in a polite tone, keeping that plastic, frozen smile on my face. I moved away to obtain my sword from where I had initially dropped it and when I turned around to face him again, his eyes still showed no fear. They were almost…amused, if not a little satisfied. I faltered.

"So you _finally_ made a move then?" he asked out of the blue, smiling again and cocking his head sideway as much as he could muster, the sweat on his forehead was smudging the paint job. I didn't understand what he was talking about and I didn't comprehend how fast his emotions fluctuated. His inquiry stopped me in my tracks and it was my turn to look at him in wonder because I didn't want to ask about what he meant. I didn't know if I cared enough. But I did because he clearly had figured out the secret to surviving the arena with all one's sanity. I needed to know because I was going crazy and every minute Marvel wasn't by my side to keep me together, I thought I was ready to cut myself to pieces, the knives often sinking too deep in the flesh of my palm without my notice.

"You told him that you loved him? That you wanted to be with him?" he clarified patiently, his eyebrows rising, his eyes almost happy. I blanched, stepping backwards, because the change in conversation completely threw me off. How would the little fuck, who couldn't even make it out of the forest, know about our relationship? How was it so easy for him to blurt out the word 'love'? Why did he seem vicariously happy?

"How the hell—?" I started to ramble, discarding the sword again in favor of my hands as I dropped on my knees and raised him off the ground by his collar, the plants and rocks falling sideways. He coughed once at the manhandling before chuckling at me again, his eyes squinting to stare at my close-up, fragmented face. He was infuriating with his knowing eyes and his laid-back attitude.

"When you're in love yourself, you pick up on these things. You, Careers, are sometimes completely oblivious to the signals you send. You've been circling each other like those mating birds that puff up their colorful feathers, since day one. You knew he was yours since the time you saw him wearing that hot-pink, fluffy spandex…and then you sorta beat the shit out of his body instead of—" He rambled on amusedly, rolling his eyes at me, and I dropped him on the floor roughly, effectively shutting him up with a grunt. Had we been that painfully obvious? The boy had only been with us for a couple of days and yet he had predicted everything. He had noticed my attraction before I even knew I liked that gender. I was starting to believe him on his observations. I was beginning to be curious…

I cursed him for giving me something to relate to again. I despised him for fooling my brain in believing he could have been good company. Every time I looked into his similar-colored eyes, I remembered that he loved someone too and it was as if I could feel his pain. My control over my emotions had been reduced to zero ever since I completely gave up the barrier, preferring to let it out in the open. The pot had been too full and it was leaking so there was no point in trying to hide it anymore. Besides, if I did die in there, I would rather have died feeling, experimenting with every emotion, playing with the different combinations.

"I don't know what to do," I had suddenly whispered, without even noticing until I heard him shift nervously. My throat felt raw and my statement was merely a small piece of my flailing mind escaping. Why had I even shared that information? Was I that desperate for company?

It was probably because he looked like he had experience and I wanted someone to confirm that I was doing the right thing. I wanted someone to teach me how to be what Marvel needed, how to best support him. I wanted someone to understand, to sympathize with me, to tell me I had done my best! Because I was scared. The end was approaching and I didn't how to save him. I didn't know how to proceed. I had been ignoring the obvious until then because I had him by my side, smiling and laughing. When he was there, I didn't have to worry because I couldn't imagine it any other way. When he was gone, I suffocated in insecurity. One cannon had already blown and I didn't know whom it was for. It was definitely to warn us all that the game was continuing.

"You might not have to do anything," he muttered under his breath, a sad smile appearing on his face, and my heart sped up erratically because he was insinuating an idea that had never, would never cross my mind. He was lying! He was trying to manipulate me again, get me to freak out and forget about him. He couldn't be saying the truth.

"Shut up! What do you know anyway, you _cripple_?" I screamed in denial and he shook his head in pity, pursuing his lips at my trembling ones. Why was he pitying me? He was the one about to die! He was the one who never got his unrequited love to work out! I should have pitied him. I did pity him.

"I understand your pain," he mumbled again and I grabbed his hair, yanking him towards me to shut him up before another cannon interrupted my tantrum, bursting in the sky and leaving behind the worst sense of suspense I had felt since my arrival to the arena. My chest clogged, my lungs hurt, my throat dried. I was trying to convince myself that it was just bad timing, an unfortunate coincidence, but my heart wouldn't slow down and my breath was already coming in short.

"After you kill me, run towards the smoke. You may still have a chance—watch out for Thresh," he instructed sternly, looking at me through wide, innocent eyes and I couldn't handle it because his face was making my pain worse. I dropped his head back on the floor, standing up and looking at the sky frantically. I should have never stopped for a detour. My sadism had come in between our relationship again and the guilt was eating me up, burning the inside of my stomach and inching towards my heart. A chance? A chance was all I needed. _Please._

"Kill yourself. I have bigger things to do," I mumbled rapidly, not looking at him but dropping one of my knives close to his broken form, knowing that I wouldn't be able to handle his grateful eyes. I wasn't doing anything to deserve his gratitude—I was only giving him a means to an end so he could decide if he wanted to end his misery. I would not let my blood thirst get in my way again.

As I ran through the forest like a mad man, searching for him manically and praying that he was okay, that the District 12 boy was wrong, I heard another cannon propel in the sky, pushing me to go faster. That was the third one of the day and I knew it must have been the lover-boy though I couldn't convince myself to believe it because at that point it was all up in the air. I _**envied**_ the boy for having enough courage to take his own life. I respected him immensely for making the decision to stop fighting, stop kidding himself with useless hopes. He had regained control and from the peaceful way he had left our cruel world, I assumed he was mocking us from above.

I couldn't concentrate on dying though because I was still alive and so was he. I would have known if he had died because my heart would have died with him. No. He was alive and waiting, waiting for me to recognize that by his side was the only place I wanted to be. I wasn't going to make him wait any longer.

* * *

Breaking through the clearing, searching the area with my eyes, I almost missed it. I had followed the smoke as soon as the second cannon had alerted me to the task at hand. I worried sick that he was in danger because I wouldn't let my mind think it was anything more than that. He was not dead, he couldn't be. He was my strong Marvel and he had managed to eliminate two other tributes. He was my warrior.

The small moans of pain leaving his crumpled body made me cringe in fear. I spotted him from the corner of my eye about to keep going before realization hit me and I sprinted for my life towards his body, about to lose my mind the closer his red-covered frame got. My heart stopped working, never to return, and my throat blocked with a knot, making breathing painful.

"No! No, baby! Please!" I repeated manically in shock, running over towards him where he was lying on the grass, an arrow penetrating his lower abdomen. My mind raged at the weapon, knowing who did it to him and realizing I had not been there to stop it. He had been tainted.

By the look of the clearing, there had been a struggle because there were blood stains everywhere, ruining the grass and breaking the shrubs. The trails of blood and the lines of dragging told me it wasn't just Marvel moving around. I could almost visualize the battle, knowing that it had to be Thresh, the monster who attacked him the first time. I had promised him safety that day in the bathroom and there he was bleeding again because I was a failure. I didn't deserve him.

From the puddle next to him, I deduced he had not been able to stand the stench and vomited his insides out. I really was too late. The reality of the situation knocked the breath out of me hard, giving birth to a pain like no other, bursting from my heart and paralyzing my body into submission. Everything hurt.

I had prayed I was going to see him standing cockily with his hands on his waist and his head cocked sideways, waiting for me to get there. But instead he was there, falling in and out of consciousness, weak and vulnerable, lying in the open where anybody could get him. My heart shattered.

I threw myself on ground next to him, without feeling the impact on my knees. My palms were sweaty and I was out of breath from my sprint. I had found him at last and he was with me. I had him and I could take care of him like he had taken care of me. I could give back the life he had given me that day. I made it out alive because he never gave up. Maybe there was hope! There had to be hope. I would sacrifice the miracle he gave me without even blinking if that were possible.

As I saw his barely-conscious form sprawled on the ground, drenched in red, my breath quickened and I started panicking. He had not even noticed my presence and when I made a move to physically turn him my way, his eyes seemed lost, making mine sting. I touched his burning skin, pushing back the wet blonde curls, stuck to his forehead with his sweat, caressing the top of his head lovingly. I could see the light slowly returning to his orbs, his blinks scarily slow. I cursed to myself, looking at the paleness of his skin stained red from blood that he had managed to somewhat scrub off. His hands were snuggled to his chest, trying to shield his bare stomach.

By the torn look of his shirt, I knew someone had attacked him again and I hadn't been there to save him. I had let him pull through on his own. Just the thought of my helplessness was making my mouth dry and my eyes wet. Why hadn't he told me?

I glanced around once, looking for clues before stumbling to pick him up without hurting him, pulling him into my chest in need. He stirred lazily, moaning in pain, and I cooed him into silence, my lips against his ear. My hands were shaking so hard that I was afraid I was going to drop him all together. I didn't know what to do, standing there hopelessly with his bleeding figure, cuddled in my arms. Even if I risked taking him back to camp, there was nothing there that could help him; everything was burned to shit. I had never felt more abandoned.

Clove had disappeared and if I had been counting right she would never return again. My last words to her had been harsher than she ever deserved. She came out to save him before I did. She risked her life—she died for him—and there I had been, idiotically threatening her like a bully. The guilt overtook me, the need to explode too strong.

I couldn't yet though because there were still three of us left: him, his murderer and me. I wanted to mourn Clove's death but I couldn't because he was in my arms being dragged that same direction but unlike Clove I could still make a difference there. A sense of deja vu hit me and I assumed that had been how Marvel had felt that day he lost Glimmer and saved me. He had been strong enough and I had to keep going to make him proud. My rational mind still couldn't believe he was bleeding on my shirt and reflexively clutching my hands. How had I let that happen?

He turned towards me finally and smiled slightly, his emerald eyes looking up in recognition, shinier than ever, deeper than the sea. His breaths were so ragged and I could tell he was suffering with each one he took. There was blood running across his chin, there was blood on his hands where he was clutching his wound, there was blood on the ground, on the grass, on his clothes. Yet, he still managed to give me one of his cheerful smiles before going into a harsh, coughing fit, more blood dripping on his shirt. He must have been in that state for too long and I was touched at how he had managed to endure through the pain to wait for me patiently, even when I stupidly had taken detours to satisfy my own insecurities.

"I am so sorry, Cato," he whispered dejectedly, his fingers running down my jaw, one of my hands coming up to hold his palm next to me, my lips moving to kiss it. "I should have never left…" Cough. Blood spurt. Flinch. "But they would have killed you. I couldn't let them have you, baby."

His eyes saddened immediately, crushing me with their pain so I hurried to ease his guilt, my lips kissing his forehead, my hands holding his face close to mine as I whispered that he would be okay, that the fight wasn't over—they had not won. I begged for him to keep fighting. I repeated to him how much he meant to me.

"I was scared they were going to take me away without saying bye," He murmured relieved, staring at the way I snapped my eyes towards his in horror, hurt beyond words, devastated beyond repair.

I could see his eyes go glassy at his last statement and I quickly shook my head in denial, planting a long kiss on his forehead and then one on his bloody lips to quiet him down because I couldn't have him talk like that. I would not let myself think that. He was going to live. He had to live. I had been correct to assume that he had suffered through long enough and by the needles on the ground, I hypothesized that he had not been fighting alone. Why wasn't Gloss telling him he would come back? Why was the blond mentor letting him believe it was over?

"No, baby. Shh. Don't say that, please," I hushed him gently, touching our foreheads and gripping him tighter to myself, not wanting to let go, "Look at me, beautiful, I am going to save you, okay?"

He nodded but his lashes got wet with tears and I hurried to kiss him again, trying to avoid looking at the resignation shining in those deep seas. I was mesmerized by how shiny his eyes got when wet. It was as if they were emanating light of their own, not merely reflecting that of the artificial sun. I could understand they were showing me how scared he was to leave and how desperately he was begging God to let him stay by my side. I knew he would never admit it out loud because he was trying to be strong for both of us.

I didn't realize how hard I was gripping him until he flinched a little and I hurried to release my hold, moving to examine his wound. The arrow had struck deep into the side of his navel, right where his beautiful tattoo started, ruining not only the elegant design but also the deep meaning behind it because what we had was a bridge he couldn't burn if he didn't want to catch on fire himself. I could tell by the location what the wound meant so I hurriedly removed my eyes from the torn skin and the dried up blood. From the condition of his skin tissue, I approximated he had been hit around two hours ago. Those were two hours where I was not by his side to heal him; two hours I would regret my entire life. My eyes had started to sting and my breaths were shorter. The guilt had never been that strong, that commanding.

"It's in my stomach," He managed to deduce by himself, looking at me through wet eyes and a sad smile. Admitting for me what I was too weak to admit for myself. I gulped my fear away. I hated him for smiling and I loved him for being so strong. I could feel myself instinctively shaking my head, pursing my lips to prevent my tears. I knew I wouldn't be able to control them for long but I wanted to stay positive for as long as I could muster, not because I didn't want the Capitol to see me cry—fuck them—but because I knew the minute I broke down, he would lose his shield. The moment I lost control, he would think he had to pick me up and I couldn't add one more burden to him. Not after having abandoned him, having let him take care of everything, diminish the number of tributes to a mere three.

He suddenly hissed in pain and almost doubled over, grunting. I followed his movements gently with my hands to help him get into the position he wanted to without struggling much, raising him up and holding him close. His eyes scrunched tightly and he tried to regulate his breathing but I could tell he was in agony by how hard he was biting his lip, his hand clinging to my shirt, spreading his vital blood. A single tear ran down his cheek and hit the grass without him noticing it had escaped. It opened the gates to my sadness because he had given me the permission.

I lay him down on the ground again when his coughs subsided, crouching above him protectively, one hand grasping his torn shirt, trying to make both ends meet so he was covered from the eyes of the cameras while the other snaked behind his head, providing a cushion for his curly hair.

"I will die, Cato," He whispered against my temple, trying to comfort me as I nuzzled my face on his neck, practically sobbing my eyes out, feeling them water uncontrollably. I didn't care anymore about my reputation, about my front. They were taking him away from me. After all I had done to protect him they wanted him back. The tears came out thick and viscous, having been collected for years, pooling down my cheeks and wetting the long curls bouncing down his neck. It was unfair. He was mine now. They couldn't have him! Ever since I had willingly opened the door to my heart for him to enter, I never managed to fully close it again and, without him, the guardian of my emotions, everything would fly out to haunt me.

"No, you're not! You can't!" I bawled out wetly, still unable to look at him in the eye, soaking his fragile neck in my tears. My lips moved to trace the evidence of our last night and the sight of the tender love bites only served to make my panic attack worse. I was starting to hyperventilate. My arms wrapped around him tightly, cradling him in my arms, and I hugged him to myself, feeling the fever he had, letting his warm blood soak through my shirt, careful to not touch the arrow. I knew if I removed it, I wouldn't be able to stop the flow from leaving his defenseless body. I had to find a way to keep him together. I couldn't let anything leave him because he would lose that perfection that was his identify.

"Oh, no, love," He cooed softly, touching my hair lovingly, trying to get me to face him. I refused to let go of my position on his collarbone, my lips against his beating pulse. His hand was soothing my heaving and I could finally breathe freely again ever since I had started to break down. His fingers raked through my short hair, kissing the nape of my neck with their fingertips, drifting down my shaking jawline affectionately. I could feel his breathless kisses on my head, frequent and short.

"Look at me, Cato. Please, baby, " He pleaded, his voice low, when he noticed all his previous whispers could not force me away. Every word he formed was an effort so I couldn't make him suffer more by repeating his requests, trying to get through my thick, stubborn skull. I obeyed showing him the streaks of fresh, salty tears running down my cheeks, gently tickling my skin and dropping on his rosy cheeks as I stood above him, raining my despair on his understanding face, our noses faintly touching.

"Please, you can't. Don't leave me alone!" I begged, unable to hold back the desperation in my voice. Clove was gone and he was going to. I couldn't go on, knowing he wouldn't be smiling at me, hugging me from behind and cuddling next to me when he thought I was fast asleep. Nothing would ever fill up the hole that he had dug up and made himself comfortable in.

I needed him like I needed oxygen to survive. I needed him because he could make me forget about the pain of my past, tell me to look at the future. He could make me see that I could do things unrelated to killing, that the academy was not my entire existence. He knew when I was weak and he helped me rise up stronger. He let me hide my face in his chest and whisper my fears in his shirt, caressing my back relentlessly. He was always there, knowing I had murdered many innocent ones and understanding, knowing I was broken never to return to a common citizen, knowing I wronged others, hurt him unintentionally, lost control of my anger when jealousy took over. He was always there and I would shatter without him. I was shattering.

He reached up to kiss me again and I returned it without depriving him of oxygen. I touched his swollen lips, feeling that same rush of bliss run through my veins at the contact. I moved to kiss his nose and his beautiful eyes and his drenched forehead. Everywhere my lips touched, they spread the blood he had given me before my tears washed it away again soon after. I was whispering to him between pecks but I didn't know what I was saying. My mind stopped working the moment it saw him laying like a fallen angel in the bloody meadow.

"Everything hurts," He grunted through his teeth and I wanted nothing more than to make it better. "You have to—" I suddenly knew what he was asking for and my mind screamed in anger and despair. My hands shook so hard that as much as I was trying to stop them from moving, they were visually disobeying, my nerves crumbling completely out of my control. I bit my lip to contain my cries and I looked away from him so he wouldn't have to experience through my eyes the same pain I was going through. It was leaving me breathless—it was giving me seizures. I was sure there were no layers and filters to ease the burden and hide my emotions from him anymore. He understood and his hands kept touching me lovingly.

"Save him!" I screamed at the sky in agony, knowing fully well they were all watching, knowing they were sitting on their ass, drinking their fancy liquor and complaining about lost bets. They were enjoying his pain, feeding off of it. Those cruel monsters were watching my angel die a slow and painful death. I didn't know what to do anymore.


	20. Belphegor's Pigritia Seu Acedia Part II

**A/N: Writing this chapter my mind was inspired by this absolutely beautiful japanese song. I think it is important to listen to the song before reading my words because it will give you a better view and mentally prepare you for this finale.**

** Please take three minutes to Youtube: Aluto's "Michi to you all". Make sure you open a video with english subtitles and make sure you open the full version of the song. I would recommend listening to the song again even if you have heard it before. It just sets the mood. **

_**Chapter dedicated to the reviewers that push me to be better every single day. I would have never had the courage to write anything without you guys.**_

* * *

**Chapter 20– Belphegor's Pigritia Seu Acedia**

**Finale Part II/II**

Cato's POV

"Jesus Christ! Please save him! I know you can. Please," I yelled pathetically, my voice breaking against my heaves, my lips barely managing to get my words out in the midst of my maniacal crying. Tears were falling down my face uncontrollably but my eyes kept looking at the sky in prayer. I had to fallen rock bottom to a state where I was asking the fuckers that got him there in the first place to give him back to me. I was asking the ones who killed him to regret. I was asking them to let their hearts feel mercy, an emotion they had driven extinct. I was asking for one exception.

I stood up from my kneeling position, watching him retract his hands in sympathy, releasing his hold on my shirt. He had predicted my explosion and was staring at me in compassion, not stopping me as I paced around restlessly, stepping on the grass, spreading the blood throughout, painting the ground in misery. My hands kept clutching at my chest, finding nothing, before moving to my face, my hair, wanting to pull my eyes out.

As soon as I hissed at the pain of my lip splitting open from my bare teeth, my freed mouth started yelling until my lungs gave out, collapsing in pain to catch the breath I was denying them. Midway through my monologue, I did not even know what was coming out of my mouth. I was begging, offering the little things that I owned, promising them anything they wanted from my body. I just wanted them to save him. I just knew I had to get the pain off my chest before it iced its way to my heart and stopped it permanently.

I punched madly at the innocent trees, scarping my knuckles painfully, my fingers drenching in fresh blood. I kicked at the ground, sending the dirt flying in the willowing wind, clutching my hair until the roots ached. I completely lost control. My eyes fogged into darkness and I tripped on my feet, landing on my knees. As much as I wanted to keep going, I couldn't get up so I settled for screaming, slamming my fists against the ground and laying my face in between my collapsed hands as my fingers pulled mercilessly at the grass. The tears never stopped flowing, my mouth filling with them, the salty substance making my tongue sting—I could taste my agony. My voice abandoned me, turning my high-pitched sobs into low-pitched grunts. I didn't care if I attracted the other tribute. I just wanted them to do something for him after he had given up everything for them. I just wanted it to be fair for once, just that once.

"I'm begging you. I will do anything! Just please…please. Help him, Gloss," I finished in a whisper, having lost all my voice, my throat on fire and my hands drenched in my own ruby blood. I crouched in silence for a few more seconds, regaining my breathing and turning off the pain in my mind. I could hear his ragged breaths because I had stopped dominating the air with my voice. When he started to cough again, I jumped out of my trance, hurried to his side.

As I approached his still form again, defeated with my shoulders slumped, I saw him question me with his eyes, asking me if I had vented enough. He smiled up at me regretfully, his eyes following me the entire time, glancing at me in sadness, and I collapsed on top of him, sinking my face into his chest, kneeling beside him and bawling my eyes out audibly. My eyes squinted painfully shut as my hand clutched the remaining of his destroyed shirt between my fingers, pulling it towards my body stubbornly. I was overwhelmed with emotion and, for once in my life ever since my parents pushed me inside the training center, violence did not have the power to stop them. I couldn't battle the pain away. I couldn't strangle the guilt into silence—threaten my sadness into submission. I didn't know what to do; I was terrified.

"It doesn't work like that, baby. My love," Marvel murmured sadly from below me, chest heaving along with my frame, gaze staring at my lost, opened eyes. He was caressing my hair the entire time that I wheezed for breath, trembling for comfort. He was calling for me against all the agony it must have caused him, wiping my never-ending tears with his battered thumbs, trailing them down my reddened nose and bloody lips. I knew it was taking effort for him to move at all so I was mesmerized by his strength to keep going and his commitment to comfort me even when he was the one needing consoling.

"They owe you that much," I mumbled dejectedly against his injured chest, hearing his heartbeat—still beating strong for me. The steady rhythm calmed me down from my initial breakdown long enough for me to start breathing again. He was alive and he was still with me. I couldn't waste any time, hiding in the back of my mind, silently wanting to self-injure. I couldn't become a zombie…not at the moment.

I forced myself up, offering the strongest smile I could muster, gently hoisting his head on my lap as I looked down on his upside-down features, parting his hair from his eyes. The green orbs wandered towards me, gliding gracefully up my form to my heaving chest before meeting my concerned face, his eyebrows rising adorably as he nuzzled closer to my lap, placing a chaste kiss on the side of my thigh.

We didn't speak; there was nothing left to be said. We expressed our thoughts through our vision and I felt his palm on my cheek, closing my eyes against it, as he pulled my face slower to his. My lips tapped his forehead before I moved away, crouching above him and watching as our eyes locked, my blood dripping from my lip on his forehead, making him wrinkle his nose adorably. I couldn't help but note how our faces aligned together perfectly though we were not facing the same direction. The stupid smile found its way to his lips at my attention, making my eyes water, so I placed my forehead against his, looking at the ground and watering the tainted grass with salty tears.

After a few minutes of pretense peace, hearing our breathing similar to the noise we made when we slept together, cuddled next to each other, keeping warm and safe, his hands moved to raise my face. I reluctantly looked at him in questioning but his eyes were on the sky, glaring at one special spot with curiosity. My heart rate increased and I raised my eyes rapidly, squinting against the bright light. The sun was blaring, shining a spotlight where we were both situated, twistedly presenting us like a Greek tragedy to the eyes of the Capitol. That was all we were, a show, a "Romeo and Juliet". We were not real to them and they cried empty tears, feeling caught up in the action. Their true hearts felt nothing. The next day they would merely move on to buy new colorful clothes.

A single white parachute was dropping down in our direction, gently floating in the wind, the capsule glittering in the sun. It was the single most awaited parachute throughout that entire journey and my whole body was fidgeting at having to wait for it to race to us. I couldn't get my hopes up, I refused to, but they had sent something so fast and my hand couldn't help but clutch his in a small glimmer of a future. They had heard my pleas and they had acted upon them, which meant we were not abandoned yet. I couldn't believe my tearful eyes and I palmed the parachute as it landed in my shaking hands. Marvel had fallen into silence beneath me, looking in interest as the parachute deflated, covering the capsule with a white veil. The moment of truth had come; the present that would determine my future.

My fingers gently pulled away the veil, revealing the shy gift. I struggled to open the capsule with my sweaty and bloody fingers, helplessly trying to ease all the suspense. When I wiped my hands on my jacket in frustration, finally managing to get a firm grip on my emotions and the container, I twisted the metallic top, staring at the inside in expectation, my breath non-existent. I noticed the frail top without having to pull it out. In the darkness of the parcel stood a single strand of a beautiful purple plant that consisted of many flowers with six petals spreading out and curling inwards again like the limbs of a starfish. Each separate flower stood so close to its sisters that together they looked like one entity, one long oval of purple, breezing in the wind and attracting the colorful, harmless butterflies of the forest.

I held the gift in confusion, trying to understand the purpose behind their ambiguous actions. I imagined at first that it was Brutus, it had to be, considering he had used flora again. I thought he had advice for me so as I laid the flower on the ground gently enough to not ruin its petals, I searched for the card that would hold his handwriting in case I had dropped it during my excited excavation but there was none. The gift was card-less, which meant it had not gone through Brutus. I doubted Brutus would be playing games in that state of urgency anyway.

The capsule was one of the pirated ones that got snuck in without the Capitol knowing. My mentor told me Seneca despised when that happened because usually they held unfair information on the other tributes. He tried to intercept as many as possible, catching all but the best illegal messengers.

Even having deduced the destination the capsule came from, I was still lost on its purpose. It had to be somebody from the Capitol but why would they have sent a flower? Were the people mocking us? Finding sadistic pleasure in offering a capsule with nothing inside as payback for all the parachutes we ignored yesterday? Where they trying to tell us that if we had listened and followed their instructions, we would have survived? That we deserved everything we got?

In the midst of my mental battle, my anger finding its way up my throat, I heard Marvel chuckle lightly beneath me and I turned towards him, asking for assistance because his knowing eyes seemed to understand. There was a sense of peace in them that I desperately wanted him to share.

He tried to sit up gingerly, crawling on his elbows and grunting my name in pain. I immediately moved to help him, the flower forgotten at the sight of his pain. I cooed, asking if he was okay, pulling him towards my chest again, placing an arm protectively around his waist to hold him up. I felt the way he was leaning heavily on my torso, his face sideways on my shoulder, his eyes appreciative as his lips moved to thank me. I rubbed his back in comfort, my lips laying a kiss on top of his curls as my hand blindly reached for the flower to offer it to him as if I was courting him. He hesitantly took the flower from my fingertips as the hand holding it moved to hug him to my chest. He settled in my arms, observing the shrine curiously and gently touching its frail petals. He moved to detach one of the many flowers from its friends and held it in the center of his palm in wonder, forgetting about the rest of them, dropping on his side.

"This is a Purple Hyacinth," He murmured out-loud, looking at it longingly and petting the smooth, fresh petals of the solitary one. I waited patiently for him to explain its uses, nodding at his first insight in fascination. He must have known a lot about flowers from living in the Capitol. It was clear he recognized the one in his hand too because his eyes sparked in awe when I first pulled it out. I was aching in curiosity. Could the beautiful plant help us with the situation? What did its vibrant violet color mean? Could its innocence save him?

The smile reappeared on his face after the observation but from the sad look in his green eyes I could see the pretty, violet plant was not going to be of any use. My hopes crumbled along with my face before I could begin to think of the reasons behind their actions. Were they being sadistic? What had he done to deserve any of that? He had pleased them all the way. He had fought for them, represented them with pride. He had been what they wanted, given up his life for the city that only looked at him as a toy. What more did they want from my baby?

"It represents sorrow," He explained thoughtfully, studying it with a scrutinizing stare, bringing it closer to his stained face and inhaling its calming scent while I watched him, my eyes starting to feel heavy again. I couldn't keep my interest up after having deduced the hopelessness that he was so desperately trying to protect me from, keeping up a plastic smile until he couldn't any longer. "It's supposed to mean…"

His tongue clicked as he stopped in the middle of his sentence, his breath catching unexpectedly, his face breaking into fresh, unshed tears. The eyes he had brilliantly controlled up till that point became like glass windows, his suffering soul exposed to my eyes and those of the entire world. I panicked; seeing his agony as his inner mind tried to desperately pull the curtains back, yanking so hard I knew they would shatter to the ground soon. I hurried to wipe the tears away with my fingers, comforting him with my whispered words, pleading for him to not give up on me. My fear escalated at the sight of his fresh sorrow, physically manifesting itself for the first time since that initial tear marked the ground.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? What hurts? Tell me, baby. Please, talk to me. What did they do?" I whispered hurriedly against the top of his head where I was busy planting raining kisses on him, curious about what had brought him to tears after he had held strong for so long. It must have been the straw that broke the camel's back because after the dam had shattered there was no stopping to his waterfalls. I swore I would kill them if they had done something to upset him and provoke that reaction. Couldn't they just leave him in peace? Did they not feel horrible, seeing him in extreme pain, fighting for his life? Was that not enough?

The plant was still between his fingers, lighting up in the rays of the sun. Some tears had managed to wet its delicate petals and were reflecting the bright rays, displaying miniature rainbows. His eyes had not left his prized possession and when he spoke it was as if he was directing his speech to the object in his hand.

"I am sorry," He whispered under his breath, poignant, letting the words float in the open, his breath gently tickling the petals back. I blanched, wrapping my arms tighter around him, sobbing out a 'no' in his ear, kissing his temple, to afraid to move my lips away from his skin. I was horrified that he would even think that entire thing was his fault. I thought I had removed that doubt from his head the first time he apologized. I was about to stop him from talking again with my mouth, thinking he would continue to speak nonsense, further hurting himself, but eventually realized midway through my mental process, he was not addressing me, or the Capitol or the flower. He was only stating the meaning behind the simple gesture offered by the anonymous donor. "It means 'Please, forgive me'."

Before I had time to process that information, he gasped excitedly, pointing up at the sky again with a trembling finger and my head snapped up just in time to see the entire clearing fill with white parachutes. I couldn't believe my eyes and I was squinting to get a second glance because the sun shined through the blanket of white to further illuminate them, make them look like a wavering flag of white. Looking at the mesmerizing display a strange feeling of peace overtook me and I couldn't stare away, feeling his grasp on me weaken as he sat himself up reflexively for a better glance.

We were both speechless, observing them almost cover the entire sky, some getting stuck in tree branches, clinging from the wood like silver necklaces, and some bumping with one another to race each other to their destination, clattering like bells, filling the air with the harmonious sound. As they got closer, raining down on the meadow, I pulled him to my chest tightly, holding his head next to my heart, shielding him from possible damage while he giggled lightly, nipping on my shirt like a small puppy. I took one look at his excited smile, kissing him on the nose, whispering 'my baby' and those seconds were all it took for me to miss the second part of the show as the capsules exploded. Before they even reached us, hitting on a flat surface, the containers broke open, releasing millions of purple petals, similar to the ones bound together to form the plant we found inside the capsule. The soft, round flowers whirled around us in the wind, almost dancing towards the ground to cover up the dismal and shameful display of cruelty and blood.

When I looked at his shocked face, he was beaming in happiness, smiling brightly and following the petals with his shining eyes. I hugged him to myself in silence, not wanting to ruin his moment with my sadness. My face moved to his neck and the only murmurs that came out of my mouth were compliments and kisses. I told him he was loved. He was their star and they would always remember him. He watched himself be showered with flowers of respect and grief, holding on to my shirt like a little toddler, scared of the shiny, new toy.

A part of me felt gratitude towards the many sponsors, knowing that they were paying their respects and doing what they could to make the moment special, to show to him that they really had tried, that if it were their choice they would have dragged him out of there. I was certain my previous assumption about the pirated messages was false. Seneca had known and he had allowed it. Knowing his love for the grandiose and his infatuation with the little boy in my arms, he had probably organized it alongside his blond mentor who was probably in ruins at the sight. They had gotten everybody who had given up on us to donate one last time, to have a second look, to care with a human heart and not a strategic brain. The same part that grinned at the beautiful display, the magnificent exception, cried at how hopeless the situation really was. My heart seized in pain, knowing that if they could not save him, the sponsors who had all the money in the world, the mentor that had protected him all his life, the game-maker that could cheat any tribute into winning, if _they_ couldn't, nothing could. I was too useless comparatively.

When all the flowers had fallen, the last one waving goodbye at us in pity, covering the meadow in a purple blanket of vivid shades, he pushed me back softly with his hands, touching the side of my face affectionately and looking at me in expectation. I could tell by the sympathetic look in his emerald eyes that he was going to hurt me with what he was going to say next and my heart was breaking with every passing second. I gulped, trying to appear casual, trying to pretend I didn't know what he would say, that I had forgotten in the midst of all the display.

The dried out tears in my face would not be alone for long; I felt the corners of my eyes fill with salty water, blurring my peripheral vision, eliminating everything else in the world but his striking face. He shook his head immediately, mouthing 'no, no' at the sight of my frown to ease my fear and stop my tears. I took a deep breath for his sake, feeling the twist in my stomach, pretending that his attention worked for a little, helped me hold my lip stiff. Then he voiced his thoughts and my entire universe shattered.

"I will be in pain for a long time, baby," He started with, his tone serious but loving as he tried to get me to understand his reasoning. I would never accept it—he was mad. I was stubbornly closing my mind so I didn't have to hear the continuation of his sentence. My eyes scrunched along with my face, showing him how much pain he was putting me through. I just wanted him to stop and be weak with me once. I wanted him to just lay in my chest, breathing lightly and pretending that we were in the tent again—that he would wake up in my arms every day of my miserable life.

"A wound in the stomach—" He hissed, coughing up more blood on the back of his hand, wheezing repeatedly before continuing his explanation in a raspier voice, clearly worn out by the injury. I could see by his professional terms and lack of nicknames that he wanted to distance himself from me as he suggested it. It was the only way he would be strong enough to accept his decision. If he continued to remain in the persona of my lover, the words would not leave his lips. "A would in the stomach is fatal when it pierces the stomach lining."

I found it incredible that he was patiently describing his conclusion to me while being in so much pain. He knew that I was completely aware of the situation yet he wasn't calling me out on my denial, the only defense mechanism left to protect me. Instead, he was trying to coax me again, trying to make it sound like it was my idea, like I wanted it. He couldn't understand that it was physically impossible for me to perform his last wish. Just thinking about it was making me feel nauseous.

"The gastric acid in my stomach will—has torched my insides. It's a slow and agonizing death, Cato," He grunted finally, convulsing in agony, his hands sliding down my shirt as his fingers disobeyed him twitching badly, no longer tight against the material. He was trying hard to finish his explanation, his body spiking in fever and his throat drowning in blood. I couldn't stand the feeling of helplessness that assaulted my body, seeing him in so much pain and having absolutely no control over his recovery. I shushed him, rocking him gently back and forth, bringing his cringing face next to mine to try and show him that he wasn't alone. I would always be there with him. My hand moved to wipe the blood from his lip before applying pressure to his wound, feeling the torn skin below my fingernails where the smooth, inked skin had once been so close to my lips. I remembered the first day I caught sight of the tattoo and I wanted to urgently see it again but the blood clot concealed it from my pleading eyes.

"Please, babe. I was waiting so long to see you," He begged silently, his mouth movement the only reason I understood, grasping my hand and looking at me with his piercing green eyes, the ones that had held me captive all this time, the ones that could take my breath away. I knew what he was doing, bringing up the waiting time. I knew he didn't want to purposely hurt me. Nevertheless, he was using my guilt to his advantage, wanting to persuade me by stating that death was what he wanted, that taking away his life was how I could make it up to him for not being there on time. It didn't work like that. I would do anything, worship the ground he walked on, but let him escape. I didn't want to be left behind, alone and lost. I couldn't survive without him, couldn't he understand? What was waiting for me back home anyway? My future was with him. My future was fading away with every cough that left his lips and drifted into the air.

"Won't you give me the 'coupe de grace'?" He asked innocently, flapping his lashes, pouting his lips and looking at me naively, as if he had not just used the vocabulary of a hunter, as if he had not just asked me to kill him mercifully, deal the final blow. Even before I looked at his green eyes dull in fear despite his strong voice, I knew I wouldn't be able to do it. Even if I wasn't drowning in supreme guilt at the moment, holding him in my arms, there was no way I was going to escape it once I had been the fucker who finally took his life away, who permanently closed those stunning eyes. It might have been Katniss who shot him, Seneca who let him die or Gloss who didn't warn him, but I would be the one that heard the last gulp of breath flutter in the air from his regretful lips. My breath hitched in my throat, my eyes widened towards his, begging him to understand—I wasn't strong enough. I was never strong enough—he was always the one who protected me ever since the very beginning, taking the blame during the treatment, saving my life during the tracker-jacker accident, risking for me when the Capitol threatened him. I should have never volunteered.

"I can't, Marvel. I won't," I cried forcefully, hysterical at his dumb suggestion, shaking my head furiously, making my head spin, my vision completely blurred into mere colors, tears rolling down my face again and flinging in the air at my movement of denial. I faintly saw his supportive face during my tantrum but I didn't let myself stare for too long. He would manipulate me; he always got me to do it his way. My illusion of control had simply been there because he wanted me happy; he wanted me to think that I did everything. He was modest when in reality he was the reason I was crying on his shirt like a little boy. "Don't make me do this, please."

His fingers touched my wet skin as he held my face between his hands, stopping me from avoiding his pleading eyes. I bit my lip until it bled, trying to contain my protests. "I hate you."

Unfazed by the remark, he only chuckled a little at my pouty face, dragging my form on top of his again, his eyes permanently attached to mine in an unbreakable connection. He pulled me towards him, our faces barely an inch apart, our breaths mingling together.

"You can only save so many," He whispered in my mouth, inching up with effort to place a chaste kiss at the side of my mouth. I was too shocked to return it but my hands did come up to support his head so he didn't have to struggle. I didn't want to save anyone but him. I didn't want to save myself. Why couldn't he be the one to survive?

The dripping blood from my grotesquely ruptured lip fell in viscous, ruby droplets, merging with his, becoming one on top of his trembling lips. Only that time he did not seem to cringe away from it; he didn't have an anxiety attack. He held strong, smiling lightly, cleaning my lips with his fingers as best as he could.

I could feel his uneven breathing on my lips and I wanted to breath life back into him—give him my life because he deserved to live more than I. My life should have ended in the arena—I had no plans for my future. He did. He had people who counted on him, a position that he told me about with much excitement and twinkling eyes. Maybe if I had spent more time thinking about how to protect _him_ instead of how to save _us_, I would never have been option-less.

"Be strong for me, baby," He pleaded desperately against my lips, closing his eyes to give me a break from looking at his constant emotional pain. I inhaled sharply, closing my own eyes and resting my head against his, just taking my time to regain my lost courage. His fingers moved to the back of my neck, massaging the tension away, his lips lightly touching my wet cheek in sweet kisses.

"Be my hero."

My mind went blank. I didn't think of anything until my brain slowly re-painted the picture of our situation, a painting clear of biases and emotions. I saw myself crumbling from a third-person perspective. I saw his words and his pain. I noticed how much truth he was trying to give me in his last moments. He had had his moment of realization and he was trying to share it with me. He was giving me what I always hoped happened before death. He was providing me with an epiphany, a chance at redemption.

He deserved a painless death and since I wasn't able to protect him from the outside world, I would make myself give him that one last chance to take control of his destiny. I would not let them take him away on their terms; I would not allow them to sacrifice him for their sadistic entertainment, turn him into one of their symbols. I would make him what he wanted to be: that spark of light in the dark room. I would turn the event into a meaningful one that would rip their hearts open if they still had one. I would make them see what they had done, what they constantly did to children who never had a chance. So they would repent for their sins.

I would do it myself because I was born to be a killing machine with no conscience. I was stripped of my identity since a young age. I was damned to reach the point where I would never kill again. That point could not be my death. Death would too easy of a conclusion for someone as heartless as I had been. Death would be too merciful. I had to suffer as the messenger, had to observe all the souls I sent to hell, had to always be living eternally as the bearer of bad news.

My love, my angel, my baby, my light, my savior would be the last blood I would ever shed. He would be the sacrifice I had to make to leave the constant torture of purgatory where my mind suffered the eternity of indecision, loneliness and despair. The blood I would spill from his fragile form would start the trail that would lead me to the fires of the world below. He would leave our world in my hands and he would enter a better one, I would make sure of that. I would guide him away from their claws and up where his true soul, the one that had to hide so the Capitol did not eradicate it, deserved to be.

As I exhaled my transformation against his curious lips, we both knew I had made my decision. We both knew I was ready to take a step forward into the unknown. He whispered a 'thank you' against my lips, kissing me once in the mouth, stealing my shuddered breaths and giving me back his strong one to fill my lungs, before gently pulling away. His arms wrapped loosely around my shoulders, his fingers in my hair like he loved doing when we kissed passionately in the middle of the night, our eyes blind with desire and our groins alive with friction. Our minds were synchronized perfectly and it was as if we could share thoughts. We could see through each other's physical front; we could almost glimpse at the past.

When I felt his grip on my neck as he safely held on to me, I silently picked him up like a baby, one hand on his back and the other under his legs, gently carrying him over the edge of a nearby tree. My muscles didn't groan at the pressure and didn't complain about the weight because they were reminded that he was still with me, warm with life and tingly with pleasure. He snuggled against my chest, purring at the contact, and I smiled against his forehead because for once he only managed to release mewls of pleasure instead of moans of pain. I would miss him so badly. I would wake up every single night, scrambling and screaming with tears in my mouth, begging to find his warm body next to me, pleading for his presence to hold me strong—caress my nightmares away.

I settled down against the bark with him on my lap, his back flush against my chest, and my lips next to his ear. His hands moved to clutch one of mine, his palms touching my sweating skin, and I kissed his fevering neck, nuzzling against it petulantly. I could see the mark I had given him, fading but still stark against his veins, and I almost broke down at the sight of it. I had promised him forever and I was coming up short by a long run. We hadn't had enough time together—I needed him still. I had just expressed my love—I had just learned to love for the first time. I couldn't keep going without him because I had met him. He had broken all my walls and invaded my heart like a resilient virus. They couldn't teach me to forget, to pretend that love was insignificant, because I had seen the truth. I had seen the girl volunteer for her sister's sake, the boy sacrifice himself so the girl can live. There was no going back into ignorance.

"I love you, Marvel. I love you so much, baby," I whispered wetly against his neck, hugging him to my chest with both my hands on his beating torso. His heart would always belong to me and that would be the greatest gift anyone had ever supplied me with. At the sound of my voice, his grip relaxed a little, his entire frame collapsing in my hands, his head lolling on my shoulders, his eyes turning towards mine in bliss. He trusted me and I was doing that to him. He was so small against my chest and I was reminded of how young he actually seemed at times, at loss for words, scared of the dark and confused about his emotions. He had not had time to live yet. He had not had a chance. "Don't you ever forget that."

"I love you too. I always will. Always…" he whispered back, his head turned towards mine, as he kissed me on the side of my lip before crawling down again, cuddling into my lap. I sighed heavily, gulping audibly and holding back my tears as I felt him shake on my lap, clearly crying but considerate enough to face away from me. I kissed his neck worriedly, asking him to share with me what was haunting him, hoping I could solve that last shred of darkness before he would become my light. I didn't force him to face me. I let him come to terms with his own demons, acting merely as his support, letting him know with my touches that I would always be there for him.

The sun was starting to set, turning the entire sky red, and for a second you could see both the sun and the moon, flirting with each other and accentuating the other's beauty as complete opposites bound to be separated by timing. The darkness in the woods made the atmosphere seem private and I pulled him back so he was leaning on me, perfectly aligned with my body. I motioned for him to look at the sky, trying to calm him down, make him forget the pain as I rocked us back and forth, accepting his silence.

"I'm scared, Cato," He finally whimpered, admitting his insecurity after a few moments of hesitation, his hands shaking in his lap, gripping on to mine, tears dropping on the arm that I had wrapped around his waist, applying pressure on the wound. I swallowed the lump in my throat once again, praying for strength to make it through. My eyes were a hopeless case, shedding tears continuously, but as long as I wasn't openly sobbing, I considered it a victory. I doubted anybody in the world wasn't casting some tears watching us come to terms with the end. I hugged him tighter, moving to place my hand above his heart, hearing the crazy beat it had gotten itself into and whispering comforting words in his ear.

"No, no. You're fine, baby. I got you. I'm right here." I could feel the tears running down my face, wetting my lips with the salty mixture, but I kept my voice strong. I had to be his backbone; I had to keep him smiling because the moment that smile dropped from his angelic face, I would lose everything, my motivation, my drive, my entire world.

"You're not going to hurt anymore, I promise," I urged him, feeling his heart beat start to regulate, still fighting hard until the very end to push blood into his body, blood that was slowly leaking out with every minute we were together.

"I don't want to be alone again," he admitted his final secret out in the open, sadness making his voice appear weaker, and I shook in anger, shutting my eyes to avoid from glaring at the cameras. I had never felt hatred greater than the one that consumed me at the moment for the Capitol, the monsters that had tortured him, made him hurt. The ones that had convinced him he was less than perfect, that he needed to change himself. If I ever wanted one thing in my life more than their deaths, I wasn't aware of it because my brain was seeing red and my heart was hurting in fury just thinking of their smirking faces.

"You will _never_ be alone. I'll always be with you. I promise. Until the very end," I murmured immediately, smoothing his hair and moving his face sideways so he could look at me. He didn't hide that time; he wasn't scared of showing me his emotion. "Smile for me, baby."

His green eyes found mine and they glazed over in admiration. The tears were still cascading but he managed to smile that same smile that I used to hate, the one that annoyed me in the parade, the one that attracted me to him in the training room, kept me coming back in the arena, the one that made me lust for him at the lake, the one that made me fall for him in the forest, love him…unconditionally. That stupid smile that changed my entire life.

He smiled and for a moment I saw him in that room, wearing that disgusting, pink tutu and strolling towards me confidently, eyes gleaming with pride. He was that same boy, arrogant, strong and daring. But instead of pink he was covered in red and instead of awing the entire world, he was amazing me. Instead of stripping naked physically, he was stripping down emotionally.

Recognizing the peaceful look that had settled in his green eyes made me smile back at him genuinely, as I leaned to kiss him one last time. His lips were still soft, burning against mine, moving in desperation and quiet passion. His eyes fluttered closed, his lashes tickling my cheeks. I moved to taste him, feel him against me, take everything and give back even more before it was too late. As our lips worked against each other in a silent dance, our hearts beating the same rhythm, I recognized no one would ever satisfy me like he did. No one would ever be good enough.

We pulled away slowly, letting our noses touch with our eyes still closed before we made eye contact and he nodded, the green exploding in power. My brave boy valiant even in pain with death pulling him away was keeping his head high. He would not let the Capitol see him quit, break completely. He would end it before it got to that point.

He lay back against me, placing his curly-haired head on my chest, closing his eyes and taking in deep, calm breaths. He did not want to say it again because he knew it would halt me so his hands slid to my thighs in comfort and he waited patiently for me to get the cue, for me to accept it. I knew it was time for me to finish my mission and fulfill the only reason I had been brought to these games for. I realized that the day I volunteered had been the best day of my life because I had willingly made the decision to meet his boy and be his only friend, his lover and his guardian angel. I would not take back anything from my decision. Brutus had been wrong. He wasn't just my greatest weapon; he was my greatest accomplishment, my greatest dream manifested into reality.

My hand gingerly moved to locate the knife, clinging to my belt solitary after I had offered my other one to lover-boy. I shivered when my fingers made contact with the slippery, cold, metallic surface. I couldn't believe I had once relished in that feeling of danger that the metal gave me. I remembered all the times I had sunk that knife into dummies, hearing the ripping fabric and grinning at the grotesque lacerations. My old life made me sick. It made me sad because I pitied that bossy blond who thought he had it all figured out, who thought he could fight his way through the pain.

"You will always be the best thing that happened to my life," I murmured in his cheek, showering him with kisses and drawing my knife closer to his oblivious body. My hand was shaking terribly and I was gripping the weapon so harshly in my fist that it cut through the inside of my palm, dripping fresh blood on the grass. I did not felt the stinging pain of the cut because my body was numb to ache; the mental torture was overriding any possible physical one. The blood simply mesmerized me, shocking me still, my eyes glued to the knife, horrified at what I was about to do.

"Will you come back to me?" He questioned innocently, breaking me from my trance, his eyes still closed and his breaths feather light. My breath shook in my throat audibly at the statement. My head slammed back on the trunk painfully to stop the surging thoughts eating me up from the inside. I had to drop the knife on the floor for a second because it was getting dangerous to hold with my lack of self-control. I felt twelve years old all over again, holding my first weapon with fear in my bright, innocent eyes.

I placed my bloody hand on my drenched forehead, covering my eyes in red and trying to regain my composure. I could feel the insistent tapping of my fingers as they trembled against my brow and it matched the quivering rhythm of my breaths. Shit. That would by far the most agonizing task I had or would ever accomplish. He had pushed himself a little to face me in worry, his eyes analyzing my ruined face at my clear hesitation. I realized that I had not answered his question and I hurried to make it up to him, trying to hold strong, fighting a losing battle against my sadness.

"Of course, baby. Now, do me a favor, angel, keep smiling for me. Help me out here a little," I pleaded through my covering hand, showing him how fragmented I was. My voice cracked at the end of the sentence and I took a deep breath. My palm moved to wipe against the fabric of my pants rapidly, revealing my face to his apprehensive eyes. He gently brought his palms to my face, using the tears I was shedding to wipe the blood clean, caressing my closed eyes with his light fingers, whispering 'everything is going to be okay.' He placed a kiss on my forehead before kissing my lips and offering me a blinding smile, encouraging me with his never-ending valor.

He looked down at the knife, perched innocently between the grass strands, and with his supporting stare, I stilled my hands long enough to grab it again between my vengeful fingers and raise it of the ground. He smiled widely at my accomplishment as if I had made him the happiest in the world before leaning back on my chest, resuming his previous position, closing his eyes and offering me some time to compose myself. I started to even out my breaths, close the gap that emotions entered the front of my mind.

One of his hands tightly gripped my other palm, lacing our fingers and holding it next to his heart, which I noticed wasn't beating rapidly in fear. His bruised lips started moving, the whispers falling from his mouth gracefully, low at first before picking up volume. My heart stopped at the sound, about to sob out loud again before his grasp kept me routed to the reality of the situation. My eyes fell closed, my ears the only organs working to make out his light, soft singing, his glassy eyes never leaving the sky above, his head laying on my shoulder. The words sounded familiar…

"_Abraham took Isaac's hand  
__And led him to the lonesome hill,  
__While his daughter hid and watched  
__She dared not breathe; she was so still."_

It only took the first line for me to recognize the verses that had transformed into the morbid lullaby he was singing. My mother had told me it was created after the rebellion but nobody knew the exact origins. Everybody just followed the tradition blindly, afraid to ask about the meaning that the words held. It was sung methodically throughout the District to sleeping children. It was known to make a warrior out of a baby. I had heard my mother sing the lines in a soft voice up until I was six. I always wondered but I never asked. I always wanted to know who Abraham's daughter was. I found it fascinating that she didn't have a name and often I dreamt about her in her valiant confrontation with the angel of death.

I didn't know that the lullaby's fame had spread to the other Districts. I knew though, looking at his peaceful face that only cringed slightly at certain parts that it had been a big part of his life. I could imagine his neglectful, weak mother singing it to him, rocking him on his cradle when he still babbled like a baby. I could perceive Seneca, rogue and boyish, murmuring it to him repetitively, holding him on his hip when he was a just child, asking frequent questions about the words. I could see Gloss, gruff and woken up, singing him to sleep when he had terrible nights, using the familiar lyrics to calm him down from his anxiety attacks, sitting on his bed and patting his back. I could see his life story on his lips and I wanted to be part of it. Without even realizing my raspy voice had escaped my shocked mind, I had joined him as we both sung the next line, together.

"_Just as an angel cried for the slaughter,  
__Abraham's daughter raised her voice."_

I maneuvered the knife in front of me, glinting at the last rays of sunlight shining through the branches of the trees. The moon was now dominating the sky, having risen up above us to light my way. I must have stayed there, staring at my bloodshot blue eyes, glaring back at me in the reflection of the knife because he sensed my hesitation, saving me from my insecurities one last time by kissing my chest and mouthing against it: "Finish it, baby."

I knew the sentence held a double meaning. That was always his favorite way of manipulating me. I knew why he was singing at the moment because I could finally understand that the song so many in the Capitol sung was created to be one of rebellion. It mocked the very beliefs they preached and it opened the curtains of truth to the world. It spoke of a country led by an authoritarian government that controlled everyone's lives. It told of the terrors that the government inflicted on the gullible, following people while the smart, the ones who knew, remained silent, frozen in fear. It foretold of the rebellion, stating that eventually the people could not be silenced anymore; they could not be blind to the careless murder. It was a song of freedom, not oppression, but the Capitol would never allow themselves to interpret it that way.

My life shattered with every word that came out of my mouth, desperate and wet, flying in the wind as his eyes closed to accept them. The next part was the one I never managed to grasp as a young child, frowning deeply when my mother repeated that nobody would ever know her name. Why wouldn't she have one? Singing it a second time after years of not having heard it sent a different shiver down my spine. She didn't have a name because she didn't have an identity.

We were not people to the government; we ware a general mass of different functions. We were specialized labor, a means to an end. There was never any emotion; we were just codes that they recognized from our blood the day of the reaping. They didn't care about our names. They cared about our District number. To the eyes of president Snow I would only be male tribute from District 2, participating in an entertaining game. To the public of the Capitol I was like a character in a book. I couldn't believe I had let them use me, make me a tool, objectify me to the point that I had volunteered! I raised my hand like a good little boy, screaming in joy that I wanted to be the next one in the slaughterhouse. How foolishly sad!

During my entire mental monologue, he remained silent, giving me a chance to speak, letting me feel the empowerment of realization. That moment right then was the reason why the Capitol feared the intelligent, forced ignorance to the public. I was certain he had realized everything and he was sharing his epiphany with me so I didn't have to go through suffering and death to finally open my eyes to the life I really should have wanted to live. My voice solidified into a chant as I slowly sang him to his eternal sleep, letting him know that I had understood and I was free. The knife still hung unused in front of my determined face.

"_Then the angel asked her what  
__Her name was she said I have none.  
__Then he asked 'how can this be'?  
_'_My _father_ never gave me one'."_

When the song hung unfinished in the air, he smiled at me brilliantly, silently giving me permission to continue and I quickly positioned the knife against the thin skin of his throat, taking a deep, hissing breath alongside him simultaneously, a shudder running down my back, paralyzing my body. I would not back out! I would not.

He did not stiffen in fear or anticipation when he felt the metal touch his hot skin. He remained calm and composed, angelic at the veil that the moon was shining on him. The sun fell behind the mountains more rapidly than I expected and the moon hid behind the dark, thick clouds, rendering the entire valley in complete darkness to hide us from the world, to cloak my sins, to give us the privacy we deserved, to let us know that the death was different—it wasn't being celebrated nor was it being spotlighted. I thanked Seneca in my mind, thought about the devastation in Gloss' face but didn't let that stop me. I looked at the sky one more time, my lips against the pulse on the side of his throat.

Beat. Beat. Beat…

"Time to fly now, my little angel," I sobbed in anguish; cutting open the thin skin of his neck, the knife sinking in his soft flesh, and feeling the warm blood spurt out, stain my hands one last time with its guilt as his last exhale left his open lips and fanned against the chilly, whimpering wind. I dropped the knife on his lap, creating a puddle of blood next to his wound, staining the few of flowers he had gathered on his legs.

The pulse stopped beating against my sensitive lips and I grasped his head against my chest, sobbing silently and holding him against me in a deathly hold until I felt the flow of blood finally stop caressing my slippery palm. His body temperature start to drop. His cheeks paled from their usual rosy color. His lips turned blue, transforming from their reddish pout. His eyes never opened again. I cried out loud, knowing I would never see that shade of emerald looking up to me in pure love and affection. I had lost everything.

"Baby—?" I started to murmur in denial, in desperate pleading, in crippling horror before I was interrupted by a much louder sound that made all my weaknesses seem insignificant. The cannon exploded in the sky as passionate as our love, as desperate as our _**lust**_ and as solitary as my future.

The delay told me that Seneca was as incredulous as I, withholding the announcement until he made sure that Marvel was gone. It was over now.

* * *

I waited with his motionless body in my griping arms for a long time. The temperature dropped rapidly, the wind got icy cold against my bare skin, the sun never came up behind the trees all in an attempt to remove me from the scene long enough for them to retrieve the body. I knew I was being selfish, trying to hold on to him for as long as I could, but I couldn't let go just yet. I couldn't let go ever. He was my light. He was the only reason I kept fighting. The tears had stopped because I must have run out of waterworks. I had finished the entre supply I had collected all my life for these emergencies. I was left staring lost, talking to him silently, mouthing my pleas against his cold skin.

The soft crunch of the flower petals alerted me to somebody else's presence and I did not have to look to see who it was. After all, there were only two of us left and it was about time we ended the torture, gave them the victor they were screaming their heads off for.

I kept my eyes still staring blankly in the dark safety of the woods, my lips against his hair and one of my arms still wrapped around his waist above his wound while the other one covered the ghastly cut on his throat, keeping his head from lolling sideways, firmly attached to his body. Every part of my persona was covered in dried, crunchy blood. I must have been a horrific sight to see and I pitied the audience for a moment before hoping that the memory got carved into their superficial, bubbly heads, haunting them in their sleep until they made a change. They were murderers not us. They killed him not she, not me.

"Are you going to shoot me in the eye now, fire-girl?" I pondered out loud, my voice clear and icy, my tone inquisitive like that of a child. I didn't turn around to look at her but I felt her inch closer gingerly, stepping over the shrubs to enter the decorated clearing. She looked around in awe, her blue eyes taking in the surrounding before noticing what I was holding in my arms, clutching half to death. I saw her eyes narrow in horror. I heard her gasp in surprise, one of her hands momentary moving from her bow to cover her mouth. From the corner of my eyes, I saw her utter terror as her mouth shook to come up with a reaction. I knew she wouldn't understand.

"You need to let him go," She whispered weakly after her eyes had analyzed every inch of his body, noticing the cause of his death. I snarled wildly, glaring at her with my blood-shot, puffed up eyes, angered at her idiotic suggestion. She flinched hard, moving back a few steps and her stance returned to an offensive one though I had made no move to threaten her with anything. My sword was long forgotten at the edge of the clearing and I would never pick it up again.

"Go fuck yourself," I snapped instead, warning her off from the sensitive topic and instinctively clutching his body closer to mine as if she was trying to take him away. I wanted to anger her enough to bring an end to my torture. I wanted her to shoot me already, kill me because I couldn't stand what my mind was deteriorating to. I couldn't live to watch myself melt away and become a vegetable of my past.

"He knew you wouldn't be strong enough to win," She muttered back dismissively, trying to instill some fire in me by throwing more fuel. She wanted it to be a fair fight. She wanted a reason to hate me. She wanted to say: 'I had to. It was in self-defense'. But she wouldn't get that from me because I wasn't going to humor her. I wasn't going to break my promise to him that he would be the last person I ever send to heaven. Above all, I wasn't going to let go off him long enough to chase her down because I could feel they were there waiting patiently for hours to take him away. I couldn't let them have him, not without my body by his side so he knew that I was there to protect him from the Capitol, that he wasn't alone, that they hadn't won.

"You better finish the job. You've taken bigger things from me to hesitate for my mere life," I spoke sternly, my voice harsh from my cries but crystal clear in the echoes of the night. I didn't deign her jab with a response, instead opting for provoking her into action, pleading with her to end the constant pain invading my heart, pierce it away with the same method she took him away. She could be both our messenger. She could deliver the oblivion I was looking for. She had given it to him after all.

"I promised him I wouldn't kill you before they took him away," She explained under her breath, after her heavy sigh, her tone sympathetic, laced with the first emotion I had ever seen her show. He had broken her shell? I looked at her in surprise after the declaration to see her nodding at me in expectation. "A Gallipoli Truce."

He had thought of everything. He had negotiated for my life, predicting my weakness and accounting for it without thinking twice. He had resigned to his fate long ago and started working towards giving me a chance to live, to go on without him. He was to me what lover-boy had wanted to be for the girl in front of my eyes. Even in death, lying motionless and peaceful in my arms, he had managed to remind me of my choice. He had spoken to my mind in that affectionate tone:

_"I allow you to move on and continue living. You are my winner."_

"I promised him that I would never let him go so it's either you or starvation because I am not moving from this spot. Frankly, I would prefer the less painful death but you can have your little revenge since I took your partner's life," I mumbled petulantly, lying about the last sentence in hopes that it would get her to shoot.

As she swayed from side to side, letting the information sink in, I shifted in my seat to get more comfortable and looked at her in utter boredom. I didn't want to show my fear but I was terrified at the possibility of her stalling too long. Marvel had told me about the mutations and by the howling that had started ever since his cannon had gone off, I knew the Capitol was warning me, losing their patience.

Her eyes became misty at the memory of her District partner, anger and poignancy shining through them with ease. I wondered briefly if she was going through the same pain but I discarded that idea, seeing how different our conditions truly were. I stopped myself from relating to others. She was there, ready to win it all, proud and strong and I was on the ground, groveling for her to give me the final blow, grace me with a painless death, holding my angel who I knew would light the way for me. It wasn't the same. She had the strength Marvel had been looking for.

"Fight _back_, goddammit!" She yelled in frustration, capturing my attention one more time because there was a sense of urgency in her voice that scraped the very insides of my being. She was mentally torn and she couldn't get herself to finish me off because in some crazy sort of fashion, he had won her over. With his charismatic mouth and his expressive eyes, he had managed to get her to feel pity for the Careers, the people she had been taught to dehumanize and call animals throughout her whole life.

"There is nothing to fight _for_!" I screamed back, trying to make her understand that my life had no meaning anymore. That the arrow that still stood between my fingers, piercing the cold, dead flesh of his stomach was the winning move. It was the reason she succeeded. It was the key to her seeing her little sister again, the one that needed her desperately.

The howls continued in the background, getting closer to our destination, and I looked around the forest alert before facing her broken eyes again. I noticed that her face was also turned towards the danger but she couldn't yet comprehend how grave it was. I needed to act faster.

"Shoot me now so you can go back to your sister. Kill me, Katniss," I pleaded, mentioning her name and her source of strength in hopes that I could get her out of her trance long enough for her to make a move. The mutts would be on us soon and I didn't know if I could handle getting ravished alive by a creation of the Capitol that bore Marvel's face. I couldn't go through that. That would mean all his efforts and sacrifices had gone to waste; that would mean the Capitol had won.

I felt the fear rise inside me, making my body wrack in tremors, before I saw his peacefully closed eyes and remembered that I had one more mission. He had given me his final words and he had asked for one thing: '_finish it'_. I cleared my itchy throat and made one final effort, knowing it would do the job because he had predicted the situation. He had known the brunette would win even before her arrow hit his healthy body. He had chosen her much like Seneca had chosen him so many years ago. My words tumbled out of my pained mouth, startling her into tears that told me the lullaby was definitely more than an old, forgotten tradition. She knew what she was doing.

"_And when he saw her raised for slaughter  
__Abraham's daughter raised her bow."_

There was rustling and shuffling on the other side of the clearing where she struggled with the decision that would change her life. She took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. I thought I heard her mouth the words 'forgive me' before she looked down at me again and raised her bow and arrow, taking aim. I offered her a faint smile of encouragement before leaning back and closing my eyes. I would finish the song and I would end the story with my death, hoping it would only be the beginning of _her_ story.

"_How darest you child defy your father?  
__You better let young Isaac…go."_

She did not answer, did not speak or utter farewell, but I felt her breath come short, startling her entire being. She started to concentrate, getting into that killing mentality that was all too familiar to me while I started to count to ten. After all ten seconds was all I always needed. Just ten.

As the countdown neared its end, the numbers decreasing dramatically like at the start of these Games, I heard the sound of the arrow breaking through the silence of the air. I heard her small whimper along with it to warn me. A second later the pain of the metal connecting with the side of my neck surged through my brain, tickling my heart. The feeling was strange. A sense of relief shot through my body, releasing endorphins that tried to save the fragile mechanisms of my throat. I was amused at their attempts but appreciative at the numbness, the calm. It was so very tranquil.

3…

Blistering pain consumed my body, burning my lungs and setting my heart on fire. I realized that emotions don't resonate from there after all because though it had stopped working, slowing down to a halt, I stilled loved him more than ever.

2…

I lost all feeling in my limbs, slowly not being able to sense the weight of boy on my lap. I knew he was there though because in that moment where I could still use my eyes I saw his radiant blonde hair, shining gold in the silver moonlight. I had managed to keep him to myself until the very end. He would always be mine.

1…

Would I be able to hear the sound of my own cannon breaking the silence of the night? Would I be able to spot her _**greed**_ laced in its powerful explosion? It was true that she had taken everything away from me and she had won it all but would she be able to fight till the end to finish what Marvel and I had started?

0.

**Boom.**

"_Ladies and Gentlemen, the victor of the 74th annual Hunger Games…"_

**~ Fin ~**

* * *

**Final A/N:**

** I have an epilogue in mind that I want to add to the story but please do give me your opinions on its necessity. **

**The song the 'lullaby' is from: Arcade Fire's "Abraham's Daughter" shown in the movie's credits. (Interpretation solely mine and not related to the songwriter's intentions whatever they may be.)**

**I am glad I took this journey for the second time and I have to say it was as heart-wrenching as the first draft. I have that feeling of completion, the satisfaction of a work ending when I see this come to life so I am happy with my decision to come back.**

** I do not want to sound like a broken radio or like an annoying writer but I do want to mention one final time that reviews are my life. It's how I get something back for all the hard work I put in. They bring me immense joy and inspiration. If you have finished this story for the first, second, twelfth time, please do let me know how it made you feel, why you chose to re-read it, if the edits were worth it, your favorite part, character, scene, anything. Just let me read something in return for the 140 K + words I offered to you.**

**Much Love,**


	21. Epilogue: The Last Judgment

**As promised, here is the Epilogue for this fiction. My last words as you read this last chapter are those of encouragement. It is true that this fiction ends in tragedy and brings with that end a lot of tears, sadness and hopelessness. In actuality though this is a fic of redemption! A fic of change and people rising from the ashes of their past to make a difference in the world and leave legacies behind them. I truly do believe that in the end, you should think about their sacrifice as a good thing, that light guiding others to strive for revolution.**

**Enough preaching...please enjoy. :) **

* * *

**Epilogue: The Last Judgment**

Omnipotent Narrator

The monitors beeped repeatedly, running uselessly turned on when the arena was empty of inhabitants, red lights flashed on all sides of the dark control room. The sounds made the echoes seem eerie. The workers had left slowly and reluctantly, giving Seneca one last glance, biting their tongues against saying anything to the devastated face before them. They had known that the distant, cold man deep inside had felt one little burning flame for the tribute he so desperately wanted to win. They had known the rest of the game would be up to them because if it had been for him, he would have forgotten the cannon, the noise, which under other circumstances would have given him immense joy and put a cheeky grin on his face.

"_He's dead_. _Sir, should we announce the death? The cannon, sir? …_Orders_, sir?"_

He had nodded then hastily, shaking his head in disbelief, his face cringing uncomfortably, before he headed up to his private room where the dark windows shaded his loss, never to come out again even when everyone awkwardly stood up when the screens showed nothing but the rankings of the tributes, their total time blinking on the side.

Sixteen days, twelve hours and forty-three minutes.

* * *

The victor had been picked up, her face solemn and her eyes staring at the silver and bronze medal winners, dead by the tree trunk. She had not spoken to her mentor when he came over, pushing the shaggy hair off his face and giving her an awkward hug that she didn't return, her lips pursued, her eyes lost in thought. For a second, Haymitch suspected her mind had already abandoned her. She would be one of those, the haunted ones with no words.

"_You won, Katniss. You're going home. Good job, sweetheart. You were very brave…"_

She hadn't been brave. She had won by default. They had let her win and so she found herself in debt to people that she could never repay. She found herself numb to the outside world, screaming her name and clapping their hands, because she knew on the inside their hearts were whispering: 'You shouldn't have won! You took them away from us!'

She had killed them both with her blazing arrows and the consequences were only settling in when she had sat herself in front of the replayed deaths, pushing a concerned Haymitch away and cursing out Effie who had insisted she take part in the celebrations, not the mourning. She had killed two but she felt as if she had taken away six, her eyes glazing over in tears that she would not shed—that she hadn't shed even saying good-bye to her sister. She found herself, wishing she had been dead just like he had predicted, he who had known the result. He had been the brave one.

She found her coping mechanism in Cinna, who she sought out stubbornly, pleading for him to help her in her mission. He had been reluctant, repeating that the thoughts she was having were irrational—they would disappear after she was reunited with her family. He had told her it happened to every victor but she had insisted, her eyes defiant and her chin held strong. She wanted to go through with it and he was left nodding somberly and taking her with him to the stylist, holding her hand in a crushing hold as she lay down, eyes blank, stomach naked. He didn't yet know what she was about to do but he felt the air when she looked in the mirror and he tasted her spirit of vengeance, her desire to overcome.

For a second, she reminded him of the other boy who had come in with the exact same request. That was probably what she wanted to achieve.

* * *

Rigorous Mortis had settled on the bodies by the time the peacekeepers realized that Seneca would not give orders for them to be retrieved so they had to do it themselves. They were impossible to detach, pull apart, and for the first time, the guards who thought they had been trained to withstand every type of mental and physical torture couldn't handle the situation, did not know how. Some of them gagged, looking away. Others felt that touching the boys would be some form of violation to some higher power. They thought the sight was sacred and they started to waver in their beliefs, standing in front of the grotesque spectacle for far too long, eyes saddened and lips bit.

They had ended up retreating without the bodies the first time, standing before Seneca's door, faces fallen, and pointing towards the cameras that displayed the horrifying sight, shrugging for instructions. They had gotten none.

Seneca had flinched at the sight, taking a deep, hissing breath of anger before glaring at them, his hand clutching his face, his eyes wide. His hair was disheveled and his eyes fatigued, his entire frame not holding that prideful, strong display.

"_Jesus! Why—like what do you want me to do? What can I possibly do to make your job easier? Pick them up myself? Finish your function, please, and then get out of my sight."_

The room behind him was sullen, barely lit by a small, orange light. They had been worried about his mental health then. He had never been one to overreact and he was usually at his happiest at the end of the Games, dressing up fancy and preparing for the interviews with an evil grin on his face, humming the Capitol anthem.

They had told President Snow about their dilemma, who had seemed far too engrossed in his observations, looking out of the window in festering anger, to pay attention to them, his hands dismissing their concerns away.

"_Do you need me to think for you? Use your intuition at times. Discard the bodies. Burn them for all I care. It was their fault for delaying the pick-up… Their families are just not going to have anything to burry. It is not the end of the world by any means."_

They had burned them on sight, the oil melting away all their concerns. They were certain they would be haunted and punished for that sin in specific. Many went back to their families with shocked faces, regressing back to their ancient religious beliefs. They felt damned.

* * *

Seneca looked around the small room; the darkness helped his thoughts but didn't aid his emotions. The light at the corner shaded everything with hazy, blurry lines, the orange tint making the atmosphere seem more depressing than usual. Empty bottles lay side-ways on the cart, the alcohol finished, stanching up the small room in addition to the cigarette he was holding. The pack he was twirling in his hand was empty—it had been full when the finale had started. He had smoked seven in a row without break, barely even noticing he was lighting a new one when the old sizzled to oblivion.

Gloss lay on the couch, head on his lap, plastered beyond comprehension of his surroundings. His beautiful, gray eyes were still wide open, signifying he had surprisingly not passed out yet despite the percentage of alcohol in his blood, though the brunette was certain he would have no recollection of any of his activities tomorrow. Tomorrow. What would happen then? How would the blond cope? How would Seneca cope? The interviews...

The mentor from District 1 had drunk himself silly, crashing the champagne glass on the floor in rage and settling for sipping directly from the expensive bottle halfway through the heart-wrenching display, his eyes already swollen, his face flushed in pain. Seneca had been scared to leave him upstairs alone incase he would overdose or gag on his own vomit. He hadn't seemed in a rush to stop his uptake, the alcohol running down his throat and dribbling from his chin into his wrinkled, unbuttoned shirt.

Several discarded notes lay on the table in front of him, the words crossed out or smudged by the drinks—at least that was what the game-maker told himself, trying to feel less guilty. It had taken the blond longer than usual to come up with the quote he had wanted to send over in the capsule, knowing it was the last one his protégé would ever read. He had never seen Gloss, the guy who could vomit quotes and phrases from books like it was his job, at a loss before, clutching his hair and biting his tongue in between his lips moving to mouth the different sentences.

His hand went to touch the wavy, soft locks of the man on his lap, threading his fingers through them in an attempt to get him to respond to the attention. He had been immobile, his eyes unwavering and red, ever since the last bottle emptied, dropping on the floor beside the couch. If Seneca could not see his chest rise and his frame stir, he would have assumed the other was dead with how little he reacted.

The room felt sizzling hot and the button down, formal shirt he was sporting made his frame sweaty and sticky. He wanted to go back to his quarters to take a cold shower but he didn't want to leave the inebriated alone. He was certain there was no way the District 1 mentor could take care of himself. He was surprised to note he hadn't thrown up yet. Perhaps he really was getting alcohol poisoning.

Before he had time to check anything other than the slow, beating pulse on the side of the other's neck, the knock on the door startled both of them into alertness. It was rough and demanding. It felt authoritative and it made the air freeze.

Sighing to himself, Seneca hoisted the blond in a sitting position, looking at the way the other's eyes lit back into consciousness, before answering the door, his hand shaking at the handle, his lips pursued in effort. He knew exactly who it was but he didn't know yet how much damage he had in mind.

The door revealed President Snow, surrounded by three other peacekeepers, dressed in white and looking like they had been recruited against their wills. The white-haired man made his way into the room without acknowledging Seneca's parted lips, leaving the black-haired one surprised and speechless, his frame stumbling sideways to make room. The room felt small and suffocating with so many people inside.

"You don't play fair, Seneca," The older man murmured thoughtfully, staring cunningly at the glaring blond who was still situated on the couch, his legs pulled up to his chest uncaringly, his face set in a hateful frown. The blond seemed ready for a confrontation and some part of his intuition told the head game-maker that he had to intervene.

"He had nothing to do with…anything," Seneca muttered back rapidly, walking forward to standing beside the couch, facing the President with a concerned face that tried to remain strong because Snow could detect weaknesses. He was sadistic when it came to punishing people that were out of line. They had all been out of line that time.

"Pardon me. We have to tie this end finally. His use has diminished greatly—" The white-haired man purred, motioning towards the guards as one of them moved by Seneca's side, grasping his bicep with unnecessary violence, holding him back, while the other two dragged Gloss, squirming and wriggling, his mouth filthy with curses, his eyes as violent as the time he had won, his body kicking and punching on the floor, as they dumped him on his knees, holding his face down by his hair.

"No! Wait. Wait! We still need him. He didn't—he just had too much to drink. This is my fault," The raven-haired man was trying to mumble above the blonde's vile words, all directed towards the Capitol and its cruelty. Seneca attempted to move before being yanked back as Snow glared at him once, angry enough to halt every thought of rebellion running down the game-maker's mind. What could he possibly do anyway?

"You must understand, Seneca. A mouth like his will only stir the pot some more. Have you seen what's happening outside lately? Of course, you haven't. You've been drinking your _despair_ away in this little hole with this little whore you've always been so infatuated with. Wake up! What do you think this is? A happy, little family? Did you guys lose your baby? I'll tell you what you've lost. Your mind and your skills… We're not _all_ insane though. I have a city to control." A black gun was pointed to the blonde's forehead, the cold metal against his temple, dangerously gleaming in that dull, orange light, but his blue eyes never showed any fear, his lips were smirking at the older man, his eyebrows furrowed. He seemed relieved more than terrified. "It's a pity to lose such a pretty face but you got too attached."

"_You will eventually lose and you know it. Think of me and him and her before you die. We'll be waiting for you on the other side. We'll be waiting…" _

"_**No!"**_

The gun shot, the sound deafening everyone in the room as loud as the ominous cannons, and the other man rushed forward in time to grasp the fallen body in his arms, blood leaking for the hole on the side of his head, tainting his blond hair in crimson red, his face victorious even in death.

"Why didn't you just give him a gun while you were at it, Seneca? One of these. Maybe_ that_ would have saved him."

The game-maker knew then he was in trouble. He knew 'him' did not refer to the blond in front of him but the one who had flipped the bird at all of them inside the arena, caused the chaos that must have been scaring Snow into taking a 'means to an end' approach. He knew the torture wasn't over yet so he wasn't surprised when two of the men dragged him away, separating him from the collapsed mentor and pulling him with them out of the door never to see the gaming room again.

* * *

The lone game-maker looked out of the wide window of the tower he had been locked in. The room was well decorated, furnished beautifully with amazing, bright colors, gold littering the display. The tower could oversee the center of the city where the gigantic display had been set up to prepare for the Games. Usually, visitors climbed up the many stairs to get a glance at the horizon far away from the brilliant city. At sunset, he had been there many times. The rays shone horizontally to make the pure, white buildings glimmer magically.

He had been there with Marvel too, when the curly-haired blond was very young, his frame still light enough to be held for hours. It had taken him a long time to convince the spoiled brat that it was okay to walk on his own. He had been eight for god's sake—he acted as if he were three. He was always a small boy and even at death, he seemed much younger than his age, dying cradled in somebody's arms while the person rocked him to sleep gently, singing that same lullaby that he had heard many times.

He smiled at the dark sky, a sad, unused smile that he had not seen on his face for a long time. The stars twinkled brightly because they weren't hidden by the dark smoke anymore. He had remembered the gigantic, flaming pile of roses that had littered the middle of the city, smelling a twisted combination of burning flora. Snow had been right to be scared because the outside had started to seem more violent than the inside of the arena. Somehow, he was glad to be so high up and so far away from the action. He was happy he wasn't sitting down around a table, discussing how to oppress the people back into silence.

Instead of attending the interviews with colorful clothes and plastic smiles in their faces, the Capitol citizens were dressed in mourning black. They had marched to the center where one by one each person had set on the ground a black rose, the flowers increasing, stumbling on top of one another to create a huge pyramid, the petals that escaped blowing in the wind dancing like banshees. The streets smelled of roses, the air entering the houses and reminding everyone to participate.

Seneca didn't know if it was the idea that they had managed to gather a crowd or the symbol itself that scared Snow into his room, his evil eyes brewing a plan to halt the movement. The black rose symbolized death, grieving, loss as much as it represented new beginnings and change. There was one in everyone's house now—there were many in the center, rising up higher than the statue of the man they had gone against.

He didn't know how they had caught on fire but he did know that it had been the people who had done it, not the Capitol. The flames weren't of destruction. They were of resistance. They were meant to intimidate, display to the world that the people were ready and dangerous. The fire was a gigantic double of the one that Marvel had first set in the middle of the arena, bleeding and resigned, making everybody think that he had given up.

Turning around to face the table in the middle, Seneca felt a sense of peace rise within him, one he had never felt since that day on the kid's birthday when he knew everything would change. The same needle he had sent Marvel lay on the middle of the table, wrapped in a wrinkled sheet of paper, the liquid having wet the white wrapper in certain spots where escaped from the container. It seemed only fair that he die that way.

His fingers didn't tremble when he flattened out the wrapper, removing the needle and holding it determinedly in his hand. The white sheet had a drawing on top, one that was childlike and innocent. He recognized Marvel's scribbled named on the bottom edge of the sketch, different colors staining the middle where three stick figures walked side by side, holding hands that looked a lot like rakes. He chuckled at the misshaped heads and the spiky hair. He sighed at the beady eyes and the badly drawn clothes. He didn't remember when exactly Marvel had drawn the portrait of him and Gloss, holding the little boy in between them, but it didn't matter. He had apparently saved it somewhere for Snow to have found.

"_A happy, little family…"_

Staring at the needle again, he sat himself down on the floor, rolling the sleeve of his white button down and clutching his fist. As the last drops of poison entered his bloodstream, stopping his heart from trembling in pain, his dying mind thought:

"_He would have been a fantastic game-maker had he not had the major change of heart. It is better that he did though because those future tributes would have lived through hell."_

Death was indeed too easy. He pitied the ones who were still alive.

* * *

The hoodie protected her shaking frame from the chilly wind that had settled in the Capitol that night. She had placed the hood on her wet hair, lowering it so the material covered her saddened blue eyes. She did no want to be recognized; she had not told anyone of her leave. Haymitch and Effie believed her to be resting in bed after she had dismissed herself, stomach empty and anxious, from the silent table. They were mourning Peeta but she had to think about all of them, her lost partner being among her lighter concerns.

She had sat herself in front of the window the same way she had stared outside before the Games had started, solely thinking about home, her mother and her little sister. Primrose must have been overjoyed to see her win. She wondered briefly if her little angel could understand what happened in the arena. She wondered briefly if her little blond had cried about the two other blondes, who had died that day, teary-eyed and hurt. She would go home, where she would heal from her past and pretend that nothing ever happened in the arena. Time healed everything after all.

When she noticed how high the pillar of roses had become she felt that familiar bubble in her stomach, the one that told her she had to act, the same one that had saved Prim. She felt her heart race at the sight and before she had realized what she wanted to do, her excited hands were already placing the dark-colored hoodie on top of her frame. She tied her wet hair back, just having showered to try and relieve her brain of the pressure. She snuck out of the building without anybody noticing.

She had thanked the woman who had given her the two roses for free. She had not brought any money and she had desperately stood in front of the flower shop, her palms gently touching the petals of the two black roses, fresh and sparkling in the vase. She wanted to participate—she knew she had to.

When the old lady had offered them, she was certain the woman had recognized her so she thanked her both for not revealing her identity and for the precious gift.

"_It is a day of sadness. If I had known the roses would sell that quickly I would have bought more… I have saved on in the back for myself. I want to visit the center. It is indeed a day of sadness. Good luck, little one."_

When she did reach the pyramid, the sight made her aware of her duty. She noticed the few people standing to look in awe and take pictures. Most walked past it though, having discarded their token of respect and not being able to bear the thoughts any longer. The Capitol citizens weren't used to the idea of loss, sadness, and betrayal. Their minds couldn't wrap around the phenomenon and they didn't yet know how to react—they needed guidance.

She un-pocketed the lighter, grasping it in her cold hands, staring at the silver metal and the beautiful design. It was the same one he had lit a fire with, the drops of blood staining its previously sleek form. It was the only token she had allowed herself to take to remember them by. She had promised herself as she held it in her palm when the hovercraft came to pick her up that she would never go back to being ignorant, to pointing fingers and uselessly blaming the system. She had vowed to herself that as long as she had it, she would never forget the sacrifice they had made to start the movement that would now lead her life.

The small flame lit the two roses she held on fire and she stared back in fear only once before swallowing her indecision and throwing the flame to its sisters so that it spread like a slow and building river, garnering strength in numbers. She waited with her head down, watching her shadow grow stronger as the flame grew bigger, until the furthermost rose caught ablaze, the tip making the smoke rise upwards in the air to fill the sky. The stars disappeared, taking with them the promise of a clear night.

The fire dominated the city. The sight would not be forgotten.

* * *

Riding on the train back, her face was against the glassy window, her hand on her stomach. Below the layers of clothing, on her hip, right below her navel, curving around the back lay the sore skin that she had marked with ink. Cinna had disapproved but he had soon realized that the message was stronger than any one individual, strong enough to change the world.

Right where he had written on his body of the bridges they had burned, of the life they had taken way, she had carved a different message, two words that would have made them both proud:

"Abraham's Daughter."

* * *

**Was that for the better or the worse? I can't tell if I have offered some comfort or just made people more despaired, thinking 'why must you be a killer?' I swear, I am not a pessimistic person. My writing just takes a life of its own.**

**I almost forgot to mention this but in case people were wondering, the chapter titles derive from the latin terms of the Seven Deadly Sins (Eight if you count in Vainglory). The names in front of the sins are the Princes of Hell associated with that specific sin. It all ties in with the title as well as the last seven tributes to die. **

**If you enjoyed my style and my take on Marvel and Cato's relationship, check out my brand new one-shot: "To Have But 50 Thoughts in Mind". It is waiting there, perched innocently on my profile, for judgment day. **

**This journey has been more gratifying than I can express. I hope as time passes, many people find the refurbished version of this fiction enjoyable and worth it.**

**I'll definitely be around,**

**Y.A.77**

**(Over and Out) **


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